R K E B Y, 



IN SIX CANTOS; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK 



SIR WALTER SCOTT Bart. 




ROBERT CADELL EDINBURGH. 

M.DCCC.XXXVI. 



/i~rttff3 



EDINBURGH : 
PRINTED BY T. CONSTABLE, 1, THISTLE STREET. 



CONTENTS, 



Notice, 

Introduction to Rokeby, 

ROKEBY. 

Advertisement, 
Canto I . 
II. 
III. 
IV. 
V. 
VI. 

APPENDIX TO ROKEBl 



FAQE 

1 

5 

19 

21 
53 
83 
1J3 
143 
181 
217 



The Vision of Don Roderick, 
Preface, . 

Introduction, . ^ [ 

The Vision, ' ' 277 

Conclusion, . ' 28S 

Appfxdix to the' Vision of Don Roderick, '. '. '. 1% 



NOTICE. 



Sir Walter Scott commenced the compo- 
sition of Rokeby at Abbotsford, on die 15th of 
September , 1812,, and finished it on the last day 
of the following December. 

The reader may be interested with the follow- 
ing extracts from his letters to his friend and 
printer,, Mr. Ballantyne. 

« Abbotsford, 2m Oct. 1812. 

4i Dear James, 
" I send you to-day better than the third sheet of 
Canto II., and I trust to send the other three sheets in 
the course of the week. I expect that you will have 
three cantos complete before I quit this place — on the 
11th of November. Surely, if you do your part, the 
poem may be out by Christmas \ but you must not daudle 
over your typographical scruples. I have too much re- 
spect for the public to neglect any thing in my poem to 

A 



attract their attention ; and you misunderstood me much 
"when you supposed that I designed any new experiments 
in point of composition. I only meant to say, that, know- 
ing well that the said public will never be pleased with 
exactly the same thing a second time, I saw the neces- 
sity of giving a certain degree of novelty, by throwing 
the interest more on character than in my former poems, 
without certainly meaning to exclude either incident or 
description. I think you will see the same sort of dif- 
ference taken in all my former poems, of which I would 
say, if it is fair for me to say any thing, that the force 
in the Lay is thrown on style, — in Marmion, on descrip- 
tion, — and in the Lady of the Lake, on incident." 

M November. — " As for my story, the conduct of the 
plot, which must be made natural and easy, prevents my 
introducing any thing light for some time. You must 
advert, that in order to give poetical effect to any inci- 
dent, I am often obliged to be much longer than I ex- 
pected in the detail. You are too much like the coun- 
try squire in the what d'ye call it, who commands that 
the play should not only be a tragedy and comedy, but 
that it should be crowned with a spice of your pastoral. 
As for what is popular, and what people like, and so 
forth, it is all a joke. Be interesting ; do the thing well, 
and the only difference will be, that people will like 
what they never liked before, and will like it so much 
the better for the novelty of their feelings towards it, 
Dulness and tameness are the only irreparable faults." 

December 31s* " With kindest wishes on the return 

of the season, I send you the last of the copy of Rokeby. 
If you are not engaged at home, and like to call in, we 



"u-j.ll drink good luck to it ; but do not derange a family 

party. 

*• There is something odd and melancholy in conclud- 
ing a poem with the year, and I could be almost silly 
and sentimental about it. I hope you think I have 
done my best. I assure you of my wishes the work may 
succeed ; and my exertions to get out in time were more 
inspired by your interest and John's, than my own. 
And so vogue la galtre. 

" W. S." 



INTRODUCTION 



ROKEBY. 



Between the publication of " The Lady of the Lake,'* 
which was so eminently successful, and that of "Rokeby," 
in 1813, three years had intervened. I shall not, I be- 
lieve, be accused of ever having attempted to usurp a 
superiority over many men of genius, my contemporaries : 
but, in point of popularity, not of actual talent, the ca- 
price of the public had certainly given me such a tem- 
porary superiority over men, of whom in regard to poeti- 
cal fancy and feeling, I scarcely thought myself worthy 
to loose the shoe-latch. On the other hand, it would be 
absurd affectation in me to deny, that I conceived my- 
self to understand, more perfectly than many of my con- 
temporaries, the manner most likely to interest the great 
mass of mankind. Yet, even with this belief, I must 
truly and fairly say, that I always considered myself 
rather as one who held the bets, in time to be paid over 
to the winner, than as having any pretence to keep them 
in my own right. 



b INTRODUCTION TO ROKEEY. 

In the meantime years crept on, and not without their 
usual depredations on the passing generation. My sons 
had arrived at the age when the paternal home was no 
longer their best abode, as both were destined to active 
life. The field-sports, to which I was peculiarly attached, 
had now less interest, and were replaced by other amuse- 
ments of a more quiet character ; and the means and 
opportunity of pursuing these were to be sought for. I 
had, indeed, for some years attended to farming, a know- 
ledge of which is, or at least was then, indispensable to 
the comfort of a family residing in a solitary country- 
house ; but although this was the favourite amusement 
of many of my friends, I have never been able to con- 
sider it as a source of pleasure. I never could think it 
a matter of passing importance, that my cattle, or crops, 
were better or more plentiful than those of my neigh- 
bours, and nevertheless I began to feel the necessity of 
some more quiet out-door occupation, different from 
those I had hitherto pursued. I purchased a small 
farm of about one hundred acres, with the purpose of 
planting and improving it, to which property circum- 
stances afterwards enabled me to make considerable 
additions ; and thus an era took place in my life, almost 
equal to the important one mentioned by the Vicar of 
Wakefield, when he removed from the Blue-room to 
the Brown. In point of neighbourhood, at least, the 
change of residence made little more difference. Ab- 
botsford, to which we removed, was only six or seven 
miles down the Tweed, and lay on the same beautiful 
stream. It did not possess the romantic character of 
Ashestiel, my former residence ; but it had a stretch of 
meadow-land along the river, and possessed, in- the 
phrase of the landscape-gardener, considerable capabili- 
ties. Above all, the land was my own, like Uncle 



INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBY. i 

Toby's Bowling-green, to do what I would with. It had 
been, though the gratification was long postponed, an 
early wish of mine to connect myself with my mother- 
earth, and prosecute those experiments by which a spe- 
cies of creative power is exercised over the face of 
nature. I can trace, even to childhood, a pleasure de- 
rived from Dodsley's account of Shenstone's Leasowes, 
and I envied the poet much more for the pleasure of 
accomplishing the objects detailed in his friend's sketch 
of his grounds, than for the possession of pipe, crook, 
flock, and Phillis to boot. My memory, also, tenacious 
of quaint expressions, still retained a phrase which it had 
gathered from an old almanack of Charles the Second's 
time, (when every thing down to almanacks affected to 
be smart.) in which the reader, in the month of June, 
is advised, for health's sake, to walk a mile or two every 
day before breakfast, and, if he can possibly so manage, 
to let his exercise be taken upon his own land. 

With the satisfaction of having attained the fulfil- 
ment of an early and long cherished-hope, I commenced 
my improvements, as delightful in their pi ogress as those 
of the child who first makes a dress for a new doll. The 
nakedness of the land was in time hidden by woodlands 
of considerable extent — the smallest of possible cottages 
was progressively expanded into a sort of dream of a 
mansion-house, whimsical in the exterior, but convenient 
within. Nor did I forget what is the natural pleasure 
of every man who has been a reader, I mean the filling 
the shelves of a tolerably large library, All these ob- 
jects I kept in view, to be executed as convenience should 
serve ; and. although I knew many years must elapse 
before they could be attained, I was of a disposition to 
comfort myself with the Spanish proverb, " Time and I 
against any two." 



O INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBY. 

The difficult and indispensable point, of finding a 
permanent subject of occupation, was now at length at- 
tained ; but there was annexed to it the necessity of 
becoming again a candidate for public favour ; for, as I 
was turned improver on the earth of the every-day 
world, it was under condition that the small tenement 
of Parnassus, which might be accessible to my labours, 
should not remain uncultivated. 

I meditated, at first, a poem on the subject of Bruce, 
in which I made some progress, but afterwards judged 
it advisable to lay it aside, supposing that an English 
story might have more novelty, in consequence, the 
precedence was given to " Rokeby." 

If subject and scenery could have influenced the fate 
of a poem, that of " Rokeby" should have been emi- 
nently distinguished ; for the grounds belonged to a dear 
friend, with whom I had lived in habits of intimacy for 
many years, and the place itself united the romantic 
beauties of the wilds of Scotland with the rich and 
smiling aspect of the southern portion of the island. But 
the Cavaliers and Roundheads, whom I attempted to 
summon up to tenant this beautiful region, had for the 
public neither the novelty nor the peculiar interest of 
the primitive Highlanders. This, perhaps, was scarcely 
to be expected, considering that the general mind sym- 
pathises readily and at once with the stamp which 
nature herself has affixed upon the manners of a people 
living in a simple and patriarchal state •, whereas it has 
more difficulty in understanding or interesting itself in 
manners founded upon those peculiar habits of thinking 
or acting, which are produced by the progress of society. 
We could read with pleasure the tale of the adventures 
of a Cossack or a Mongol Tartar, while we only wonder 
and stare over those of the lovers in the " Pleasing 



INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBY. V 

Chinese History," where the embarrassments turn upon 
difficulties arising out of unintelligible delicacies pecu- 
liar to the customs and manners of that affected people. 
The cause of my failure had, however, a far deeper 
root. The manner, or style, which, by its novelty, at- 
tracted the public in an unusual degree, had now, after 
having been three time3 before them, exhausted the 
patience of the reader, and began in the fourth to lose 
its charms. The reviewers may be said to have apostro- 
phized the author in the language of PamelTs Edwin ; — 

" And here rererse the charm, he cries, 
And let it fairly now suffice. 
The gambol has been shown." 

The licentious combination of rhymes, in a manner 
not perhaps very congenial to our language, had not 
been confined to the author. Indeed, in most similar 
cases, the inventors of such novelties have their reputa- 
tion destroyed by their own imitators, as Actseon fell 
under the fury of his own dogs. The present author, 
like Bobadil, had taught his trick of fence to a hundred 
gentlemen, (and ladies 1 ) who could fence very nearly. 
or quite, as well as himself. For this there was no 
remedy; the harmony became tiresome and ordinary, and 
both the original inventor and his invention must have 
fallen into contempt, if he had not found out another 
road to public favour. What has been said of the metre 
only, must be considered to apply equally to the struc- 

1 [" Scott found peculiar favour and imitation among the fair 
sex : there was Miss Haiford. and Miss Mitford, and Miss Francis ; 
but. with the greatest respect be it spoken, none of his imitators 
did much honour to the original, except Hogg, the Ettrick Shep- 
herd, until the appearance of ' The Bridal of Triermain' and 
' Harold the Dauntless,' which, in the opinion of some, equalled, if 
not surpassed, him ;. and lo ! after three or four years, they turned 
out to be the Master's own compositions,"— Byron's Works vol. 
xv. p. 96.] 



10 INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBV. 

ture of the Poem and of the style. The very best pas- 
sages of any popular style are not, perhaps, susceptible 
of imitation, but they may be approached by men of 
talent ; and those who are less able to copy them, at 
least lay hold of their peculiar features, so as to produce 
a strong burlesque. In either way, the effect of the 
manner is rendered cheap and common • and, in the 
latter case, ridiculous to boot. The evil consequences 
to an author's reputation are at least as fatal as those 
which come upon the musical composer, when his me- 
lody falls into the hands of the street ballad- singer. 

Of the unfavourable species of imitation, the author's 
style gave room to a very large number, owing to an ap- 
pearance of facility to which some of those who used 
the measure unquestionably leaned too far. The effect 
of the more favourable imitations, composed by persons 
of talent, was almost equally unfortunate to the original 
minstrel, by shewing that they could overshoot him with 
his own bow. In short, the popularity which once at- 
tended the School, as it was called, was now fast decay- 
ing. 

Besides all this, to have kept his ground at the crisis 
when " Rokeby" appeared, its author ought to have put 
forth his utmost strength, and to have possessed at least 
all his original advantages, for a mighty and unexpected 
rival was advancing on the stage — a rival not in poetical 
powers only, but in that art of attracting popularity, in 
which the present writer had hitherto preceded better 
men than himself. The reader will easily see that 
Byron is here meant, who, after a little velitation of no 
great promise, now appeared as a serious candidate, in 
the " First two Cantos of Childe Harold." 1 I was asto- 

i [" These two Cantos were published in London in March 1812, 
and immediately placed their author on a level with the very high- 



INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBV. 11 

nished at the power evinced by that work, which neither 
the " Hours of Idleness," nor the " English Bards and 
Scotch Reviewers," had prepared me to expect from its 
author. There was a depth in his thought, an eager 
abundance in his diction, which argued full confidence 
in the inexhaustible resources of which he felt himself 
possessed ; and there was some appearance of that la- 
bour of the file, which indicates that the author is con- 
scious of the necessity of doing every justice to his work, 
that it may pass warrant. Lord Byron was also a tra- 
veller, a man whose ideas were fired by having seen, in 
distant scenes of difficulty and danger, the places whose 
very names are recorded in our bosoms as the shrines of 
ancient poetry. For his own misfortune, perhaps, but 
certainly to the high increase of his poetical character, 
nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system those passions 
which agitate the human heart with most violence, and 
which may be said to have hurried his bright career to 
an early close. There would have been little wisdom 
in measuring my force with so formidable an antagonist ; 
and I was as likely to tire of playing the second fiddle 
in the concert, as my audience of hearing me. Age also 
was advancing. I was growing insensible to those sub- 
jects of excitation by which youth is agitated. I had 
around me the most pleasant but least exciting of all 
society, that of kind friends and an affectionate family. 
My circle of employments was a narrow one ; it occu- 

est names of his age. The impression they created was more uni- 
form, decisive, and triumphant, than any that had "been witnessed 
in this country for at least two generations. c I awoke one morn- 
ing, 5 he says, ' and found myself famous.' In truth, he had fixed 
himself, at a single bound, on a summit, such as no English poet 
had ever before attained, but after a long succession of painful 
and comparatively neglected efforts," — Advertisement to Byron's 
Life and Works, vol. viii.] 



12 INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBY. 

pied me constantly, and it became daily more difficult 
for me to interest myself in poetical composition : — 
" How happily the days of Thalaba went by !" 
Yet, though conscious that I must be, in the opinion 
of good judges, inferior to the place I had for four or 
five years held in letters, and feeling alike that the lat- 
ter was one to which I had only a temporary right, I 
could not brook the idea of relinquishing literary occu- 
pation, which had been so long my chief diversion. Nei- 
ther was I disposed to choose the alternative of sinking 
into a mere editor and commentator, though that was a 
species of labour which I had practised, and to which I 
was attached. But I could not endure to think that I 
might not, whether known or concealed, do something of 
more importance. My inmost thoughts were those of the 
Trojan Captain in the galley race, — 

" Non jam prima peto Mnestheus, neque vincere certo ; 
Quanquam O ! — sed superent, quibus hoc, Neptune, dedisti : 
Extremos pudeat rediisse : hoc vincite, cives, 
Et prohibete nefas."*— ^En. lib, v. 194. 

I had, indeed, some private reasons for my " Quan- 
quam O ! " which were not worse than those of Mnes- 
theus. I have already hinted that the materials were 
collected for a poem on the subject of Bruce, and frag- 
ments of it had been shown to some of my friends, and 
received with applause. Notwithstanding, therefore, the 
eminent success of Byron, and the great chance of his 
taking the wind out of my sails, 2 there was, I j udged, a 

] [" I seek not now the foremost palm to gain ; 
Though yet — but ah ! that haughty wish is vain ! 
Let those enjoy it whom the gods ordain. 
But to be last, the lags of all the race ! — 
Redeem yourselves and me from that disgrace." 

Dryden.] 
2 [" George Ellis and Murray have been talking something about 



INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBV. 1 3 

species of cowardice in desisting from the task which I 
had undertaken, and it was time enough to retreat when 
the battle should be more decidedly lost. The sale of 
M Rokeby," excepting as compared with that of " The 
Lady of the Lake, 11 wa-s in the highest degree respecta- 
ble *, and as it included fifteen hundred quartos, 1 in those 
quarto-reading days, the trade had no reason to be dis- 
satisfied. 

W. S. 

Aebotsford, April, 1830. 

Scott and me, George pro Scoto,—a.n& very right too. If they -want 
to depose him, I only -wish they -would not set me up as a competi- 
tor. I like the man — and admire his works to what Mr. E rah am 
calls Entusymusy. All such stuff can only vex him, and do me 
no good." — Bvnox's Diary, Nov. lS13.—JVarks, vol. ii. p. 259-1 
1 LThe 4to Edition was published in January, 1813.] 



ROKEBY; 



A POEM. 



IN SIX CANTOS. 



JOHN B. S. MORRITT, Esq. 
THIS POEM, 

THE SCENE OF WHICH JS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEMESNE OF 
ROKEBY, 

IS INSCRIBED, 

IN TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP. 

BY 

WALTER SCOTT. 1 



i [Dec. 31. 1812.] 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



The scene of this poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta 
Bridge, in Yorkshire, and shifts to the adjacent fortress of 
Barnard Castle, and to other, places in that Vicinity. 

The Time occupied by the Action is a, space of Five Days, 
Three of ichich are supposed to elapse between the end of 
the Fifth and beginning of the Sixth Canto. 

Hie date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent 
to the great Battle of Marston Moor, SdJuly, 1644. This 
period of public confusion has been chosen, without any pur- 
pose of combining tlie Fable with the Military or Political 
Events of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of 
probability to the Fictitious narrative now presented to the 
Public. 



[ 21 1 



ROKEBY. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 

The Moon is in her summer glow. 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow, 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream, 1 
She changes as a guilty dream, 
When Conscience, with remorse and fear, 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now the blush of shame. 
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame, 
Shifting that shade, to come and go, 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air, 
And dies in darkness, like despair^ 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth, 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 

1 [See Appendix. Note A.] 



22 rokeby. Canto I, 

Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall, 1 
Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 

II. 

Those towers, which in the changeful gleam 2 
Throw murky shadows on the stream, 
Those towers of Barnard hold a guest, 
The emotions of whose troubled breast, 
In wild and strange confusion driven, 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied, 
Oft had he changed his weary side, 
Composed hi3 limbs, and vainly sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 
Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true 3 and fancies vain, 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 
The expected future with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time, 
Already rues the enacted crime, 
And calls her furies forth, to shake 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake ; 
While her poor victim's outward throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes, 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 

III. 

Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping face, 

1 [This couplet is not in the original MS.] 

2 [MS. " shifting gleam."] 

s [MS.—" Of feelings real, and fancies vain." 



Canto I. rokeby. 23 

Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge the Tees. 
There might be seen of shame the blush, 
There anger's dark and fiercer flush, 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seem'cl grasping dagger-knife, or brand 
Relax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
The tear in the half-opening eye, 
The pallid cheek and brow, confess'd 
That grief was busy in his breast ; 
Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 
ImpelPd the life-blood from the heart : 
Features convulsed, and mutterings dread, 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
That pang the painful slumber broke, 1 
And Oswald with a start awoke. 2 

i [MS. — - ( Nor longer nature bears the shock, 
That pang the slumberer awoke."] 
2 [There appears some resemblance betwixt the vision:: 
wald's sleep and the waking-dream of the Giaour :— 

" He stood. — Some dread was on his face. 

Soon Hatred settled in its place ; 

It rose not with the reddening flush 

Of transient Anger's hasty blush, 

But pale as marble o'er the tomb, 

Whose ghastly whiteness aids its gloom. 

His brow was bent, his eye was glazed ; 

He raised his arm, and fiercely raised, 

And sternly shook his hand on high, 

As doubting to return or fly ; 

Impatient of his flight delay' d, 

Here loud his raven charger neigh' d — 

Down glanced that hand, and grasp'd his blade ; 

That sound had burst his waking dream. 

As slumber starts at owlet's scream. 

The spur hath lanced his courser's sides ; 

Away, away, for life he rides. 



21 rokeby. Canto I, 

IV. 

He woke, and fear'd again to close 
His eyelids in such dire repose ; 
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle-bell. 
Or listen to the owlet's cry, 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by, 
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the time, 
And envying think, how, when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free.. 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 

V. 

Far town-ward sounds a distant tread, 
And Oswald, starting from his bed, 
Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear, 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
Until it reach 'd the castle bank. 1 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears* 
The warder's challenge now he hears,^ 

'Twas but a moment that he stood, 
Then sped as if by death pursued, 
But in that instant o'er his soul, 
Winters of memory seem'd to roll, 
And gather in that drop of time, 
A life of pain, an age of crime." 

Byron's Works, vol. ix. p. 157- 3 
i [MS. — " Till underneath the castle bank, 

Nigh and more nigh the sound appears, 
The warder's challenge next he hears,"] 
2 I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the effect of keen 
and fervent anxiety in giving acuteness to the organs of sense. 
My gifted friend, Miss Joanna Baillie, whose dramatic works difi- 



Canto I. ROKEBY. 25 

Then clanking chains and levers tell. 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell, 
And, in the castle court below, 
Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
As marshalling the stranger's way, 
Straight for the room where Oswald lay ; 
The cry was, — " Tidings from the host, 1 
Of weight — a messenger comes post.'' 
Stirling the tumult of his breast, 
His answer Oswald thus express'd— 
" Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
Admit the stranger, and retire." 

VI. 

The stranger came with heavy stride, 2 
The morion's plumes his visage hide, 
And the buff-coat, an ample fold, 
Mantles his form's gigantic mould. 5 
Full slender answer deigned he 
To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 
But mark'd, by a disdainful smile. 
He saw and scorn'd the petty wile, 

play such intimate acquaintance with the operations of human 
passion, has not omitted this remarkable circumstance : — 

" De Jlontfort. (Off his guard.) "lis Rezenvelt: I heard his 
well-known foot, 
From the first staircase mounting step by step. 

Freb. How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound ! 
I heard him not. 

{Be Montfort looks embarrassed* and issilent.l 

1 [MS. — " The cry was, — ' Heringham comes post. 

With tidings of a battle lost.' 

As one that roused himself from rest. 

His answer," &c.~) 

2 [MS. ■ " with heavy pace, 

The plumed morion hid his face."} 

3 [See Appendix, Note B.] 



26 rokeby. Canto I. 

When Oswald changed the torch's place, 

Anxious that on the soldier's face 1 

Its partial lustre might be thrown, 

To show his looks, yet hide his own. 

His guest, the while, laid low aside 

The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide, 

And to the torch glanced broad and clear 

The corslet of a cuirassier ; 

Then from his brows the casque he drew, 

And from the dank plume dash'd the dew, 

From gloves of mail relieved his hands, 2 

And spread them to the kindling brands, 

And, turning to the genial board, 3 

Without a health, or pledge, or word 

Of meet and social reverence said, 

Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 

As free from ceremony's sway, 

As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 

VII. 

With deep impatience, tinged with fear, 
His host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
And quaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
Now paced the room with hasty stride, 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 4 

1 [MS. — " That fell upon the stranger's face."] 

2 [MS. " he freed his hands."] 

3 [MS. — " Then turn'd to the replenished board."] 
^ [MS. — " Protracted o'er his savage feast, 

Yet with alarm he saw at last." 



Canto I. 



Yet, viewing with alarm, at last, 
The end of that uncouth repast, 
Almost he seem'd their haste to rue, 
As, at his sign, his train withdrew, 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 



VIII. 

Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his dark face a scorching clime, 
And toil, had done the work of time, 
Roughen'd the brow, the temples bared, 
And sable hairs with silver shared. 
Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
The full-drawn lip that upward curl'd, 
The eye, that seem'd to scorn the world. 
That lip had terror never blench'd ; 
Ne'er in that eye hath tear-drop quench "d 
The flash severe of swarthy glow, 
That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 
Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, 
Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow, 1 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball, 
Knew all his shapes, and scorn'd them all. 

IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's harden'd look. 
Unmoved could blood and danger brook, 
^ [See Appendix, Note C] 



23 rokeby. Canto I. 

Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart brow and callous face ; 
For evil passions, cherish'd long, 
Had plough 'd them with impression strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
Light folly, past with youth away, 
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour, 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 
And yet the soil in which they grew, 
Had it been tamed when life was new, 
Had depth and vigour to bring forth 1 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that, e'en then, his heart had known 
The gentler feelings' kindly tone : 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chasten'd mind, 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
Been lost in love of glory's meed, 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 

X. 

Even now, by conscience unrestrained, 
Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain'd, 
Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, 
Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard. 2 

1 [MS. — " Shew'd depth and vigour to bring forth 
The noblest fruits of virtuous worth. 
Then had the lust of gold accurst 
Been lost in glory's nobler thirst, 
And deep revenge for trivial cause, 
Been zeal for freedom and for laws, 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair honour for its guide."] 

s [MS. " stern regard.""] 



Canto I. rokkbt. 29 

And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
He strove, by many a winding train. 
To lure his sullen guest to show. 
Unask'd, the news he long'd to know, 
"While on far other subject hung 
His heart, than falter d from his tongue. 
Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain, 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort, 
Return'd him answer dark and short, 
Or started from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange, 
And forced the embarrassed host to buy. 
By query close, direct reply, 

XI. 

A while he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
And Church Reform'd — but felt rebuke 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 
Then stammer'd — " Has a field been fought ? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
For sure a soldier, famed so far 
In foreign fields for feats of war, 
On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 
Until the field were won and lost.'* — 
f; Here, in your towers by circling Tees, 
You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease ; : 
Why deem it strange that others come 
To share such safe and easy home, 
From fields where danger, death and toil, 
Are the reward of civil broil ?" — 2 

1 [MS. — " Safe sit you. Oswald, and at ease."] 
- [MS.—** Award the meed of civil broil."] 



30 rokeby. Canto I. 

" Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we know 

The near advances of the foe, 

To mar our northern army's work, 

Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 

Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay, 1 

And must have fought — how went the day ?" — 

XII. 

" Wouldst hear, the tale ?— On Marston heath 2 

Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 

Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now 

Fired was each eye, and flush'd each brow ; 

On either side loud clamours ring, 

w God and the Cause !' — 4 God and the King !' 

Right English all, they rush'd to blows, 

With nought to win, and all to lose. 

I could have laugh'd — but lacked the time — 

To see, in phrenesy sublime, 

How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 

For king or state, as humour led ; 

Some for a dream of public good, 

Some for church-tippet, gown and hood, 

Draining their veins, in death to claim 

A patriot's or a martyr's name 

Led Bertram Risingham the hearts, 3 
That counter'd there on adverse parts, 
No superstitious fool had I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
Chili had heard me through her states, 
And Lima oped her silver gates, 

1 [MS. — " Thy horsemen on the outposts lay."] 

2 [See Appendix, Note D.] 

3 [MS.—" Led I but half of such bold hearts, 

As countered there," &c] 



Canto I. rokeby. 31 

Rich Mexico I had march'd through. 

And sack'd the splendours of Peru, 
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name, 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame.'' — . 
u Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the day ?"' 

XIII. 
" Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound, 
And good where goblets dance the round, 
Though gentle ne'er was join'd. till now. 

With rugged Bertram's breast and brow , 

But I resume. The battle's rage 

Was like the strife which currents wage, 

Where Orinoco, in his pride, 

Rolls to the main no tribute tide, 

But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 

A rival sea of roaring war ; 

While, in ten thousand eddies driven, 

The billows fling their foam to heaven, 

And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 

Where rolls the river, where the main, 

Even thus upon the bloody field, 

The eddying tides of conflict wheel'd l 

Ambiguous, till that heart of flame, 

Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, 

Hurling against our spears a line 

Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 

Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal, 

In zeal's despite began to reel. 

What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost. 

Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 

1 ^MS.— "' The doubtful tides of battle reel'd.'*"] 



ROKEBY. Canto I. 

A thousand men, who drew the sword 
For both the Houses and the Word, 
Preached forth from hamlet, grange, and down, 
To curb the crosier and the crown, 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretch'd in gore, 

And ne'er shall rail at mitre more 

Thus fared it, when I left the fight, 

With the good Cause and Commons 1 right. 11 — 

XIV. 

Qi Disastrous news !" dark Wycliffe said ; 
Assumed despondence bent his head, 
While troubled joy was in his eye, 

The well-feign'd sorrow to belie 

" Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ? 
Complete the wofnl tale, and say, 
Who fell upon that fatal day ; 
What leaders of repute and name 
Bought by their death a deathless fame. 1 
If such my direst foeman's doom, 

My tears shall dew his honour'd tomb 

No answer ? — Friend, of all our host, 
Thou know'st whom I should hate the most, 
Whom thou too, once, were wont to hate, 
Yet leav 1 st me doubtful of his fate. 11 — 
With look unmoved, — " Of friend or foe, 
Aught, 11 answer'd Bertram, " wouldst thou know, 
Demand in simple terms and plain, 
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 
For question dark, or riddle high, 
I have nor judgment nor reply." 

1 £MS.— Chose death in preference to shame."] 



Canto I. rokeby. 33 

XV. 

The wrath his art and fear suppress'd, 

Now blazed at once in WyclinVs breast ; 

And brave, from man so meanly born, 

Roused his hereditary scorn. 

" Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt ? 

Philip of Mortham, lives he yet ? 

False to thy patron or thine oath, 

Traitrous or perjured, one or both. 

Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise plight, 

To slay thy leader in the fight ?" 

Then from his seat the soldier sprung, 

And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 

His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 

Forced the red blood-drop from the nail — 

" A health ! " he cried ; and, ere he quaff "d, 

Flung from him WyclinVs hand, and laugh 'd : 

— " Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy heart ! 

Now play'st thou well thy genuine part 2 

Worthy, but for thy craven, fear, 

Like me to roam a bucanier. 

What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 

If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ? 

What carest thou for beleaguer'd York, 

If this good hand have done its work ? 

Or what though Fairfax and his best 

Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast, 

If Philip Mortham with them lie, 

Lending his life-blood to the dye ? — 1 

Sit, then ! and as mid comrades free 

Carousing after victory, 

1 [MS. — " And heart's-blood lend to aid the dye ? 
Sit, then ! and as to comrades boon 
Carousing for achievement vron."] 
c 



Canto I. 



When tales are told of blood and fear, 
That boys and women 1 shrink to hear, 
From point to point I frankly tell 2 
The deed of death as it befell. 

XVI. 

" When purposed vengeance I forego, 

Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 

And when an insult I forgive, 3 

Then brand me as a slave, and live ! — 

Philip of Mortham is with those 

Whom Bertram Pisingham calls foes *, 

Or whom more sure revenge attends, 4 

If number'd with ungrateful friends. 

As was his wont, ere battle glow'd, 

Along the marshall'd ranks he rode, 

And wore his visor up the while. 

I saw his melancholy smile, 

When, full opposed in front, he knew 

Where Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 

4 And thus,' he said, ' will friends divide ! ' — 

I heard, and thought how, side by side, 

We two had turn'd the battle's tide, 

In many a well-debated field, 

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield. 

I thought on Darien's deserts pale, 

Where death bestrides the evening gale, 



1 MS. — "That boys and cowards," &c] 

2 [MS. — " Frank, as from mate to mate, I tell 

What way the deed of death befell."] 

3 [MS. — " Name when an insult I forgave, 

And, Oswald Wycliffe, call me slave."] 

4 [MS. — " Whom surest his revenge attends, 

If number' d once among his friends."] 



Canto I. ROKEBV. 35 

How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 
And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 
I thought -on Quariana's cliff, 
Where, rescued from our foundering skiff, 
Through the white breakers' wrath I bore 
Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 
And when his side an arrow found, 
I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 
These thoughts like torrents rush'd along, 1 
To sweep away my purpose strong. 

XVII. 

" Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ; 

Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 

When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 

Be near him in the battle's roar, 

I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 

I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 

Lost was the war in inward strife, 

Debating Mortham's death or life. 

'Twas then, I thought, how, lured to come, 

As partner of his wealth and home, 

Years of piratic wandering o'er, 

With him I sought our native shore. 

But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 

From the bold heart with whom he ranged ; 

Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears, 

Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years ; 

The wily priests their victim sought, 

And damn'd each free-born 2 deed and thought. 



1 [MS. — " These thoughts rush'd on, like torrent's sway, 

To sweep my stern resolve away."3 

2 [MS.—" Each liberal deed."] 



36 rokeby. Canto I. 

Then must 1 seek another home, 

My license shook his sober dome ; 

If gold he gave, in one wild day 

I re veil 'd thrice the sum away. 

An idle outcast then I stray'd, 

Unfit for tillage or for trade. 

Deem'd, like the steel of rusted lance, 

Useless and dangerous at once. 

The women fear"d my hardy look, 

At my approach the peaceful shook ; 

The merchant saw my glance of flame, 

And lock'd his hoards when Bertram came ; 

Each child of coward peace kept far 

From the neglected son of war. 

XVIII. 

" But civil discord gave the call, 
And made my trade the trade of all. 
By Mortham urged, I came again 
His vassals to the fight to train. 
What guerdon waited on my care P 1 
I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtain'd, 
And I, dishonoured and. disdain "d, 
Gain'd but the high and happy lot, 
In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell ; 
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
'Tis honour bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 



[MS. — " But of my labour what the meed? 

I could not cant of church or creed."] 



Canto I. rokebv. 37 

XIX. 

" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
As my spur press'd my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried, 
And, ere the charging squadrons mix'd, 
His plea was cast, his doom was fix'd. 
I watch'd him. through the doubtful fray, 
That chang'd as March's moody day, 1 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank, 2 
Fierce Rupert thunder'd on our flank. 
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife, 
Where each man fought for death or life, 
'Twas then I fired my petronel, 
And Moitham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast, 
Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 
Think not that there I stopp'd, to view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I clear'd that bloody press, 
Our northern horse ran masterless \ 
Monckton and Mitton told the news, 3 
How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 
Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. 4 

1 [MS.—" That changed as with a whirlwind's sway."] 

2 [ -. " dashing 

On thy war-horse through the ranks, 
Like a stream which bursts it hanks." 

Byron's Works, vol. x. p. 275.] 

3 [MS. — " Hot Rupert on the spur pursues; 

"Whole troops of fliers choked the Ouse."] 
*■ [See Appendix, Note E.] 



38 rokeby. Canto I. 

Yet when I reached the banks of Swale, 
Had rumour learnM another tale ; 
With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say, 
Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day i 1 
But whether false the news, or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as you." 

XX. 

Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which his complice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms his speech he wove, 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
Promised and vow'd in courteous sort, 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay, 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warn'd by the legends of my youth, 2 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
Train'd forward to his bloody fall, 
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall? 3 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side, 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
The moated mound of Risingham, 4 

1 [See Appendix, Note F.] 

2 LMS. — " Taught ; by the legends of my youth 

To trust to no associate's truth, "j 

3 [See Appendix, Note G.~] 

4 [MS. — Still by the spot that gave me name, 

The moated camp of Eisingham, 
A giant form the stranger sees, 
Half hid by rifted rocks^ and trees.] 



Canto I. ROKEBY. 39 

Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees, 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone -, 1 
Unmatched in strength, a giant he, 
With quiver'd back, 2 and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold, 
The tameless monarch of the wold, 
And age and infancy can tell, 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus wanrd by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 

XXI. 

M When last we reasoned of this Qleed^ 
Nought, I bethink me, was agreed, 
Or by what rule, or when, or where, 
The wealth of Mortham we should share ; 
Then list, while I the portion name, 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair, 
And these I yield : — do thou revere 
The statutes of the Bucanier. 5 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are borne, 
When falls a mate in battle broil, 
His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil ; 

1 [See Appendix, Note R.] 

2 [MS.—'-' With bow in hand," &cl 

3 [See Appendix, Note I.] 



40 ROKEBY; Canto I. 

When dies in fight a daring foe, 
He claims his wealth who struck the blow ; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark ; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark, 
Chalice and plate from churches borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 
Each string of pearl, each silver bar, 
And all the wealth of western war. 
I go to search, where, dark and deep, 
Those Trans-atlantic treasures sleep. 
Thou must along — for, lacking thee, 
The heir will scarce find entrance free ; 
And then farewell. I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
When cloy'd each wish, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 

XXII. 

An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite his craft, he heard with awe 
This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
While his own troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear : — 
Joy'd at the soul that Bertram flies, 
He grudged the murderer's mighty prize, 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone, 
And feard to wend with him alone. 
At length, that middle course to steer, 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
" His charge," he said, " would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now ; 



Canto I. roreby. 41 

Wilfrid on Bertram should attend, 
His son should journey with his friend." 

XXIII. 

Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 

And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 

44 Wilfrid, or thou — 'tis one to me, 

Whichever bears the golden key. 

Yet think not but I mark, and smile 

To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 

If injury from me you fear, 

What, Oswald Wycliffe, shields thee here ? 

I've sprung from walls more high than these, 

I've swam through deeper streams than Tees. 

Might I not stab thee ere one yell 

Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 

Start not — it is not my design, 

But, if it were, weak fence were thine ; 

And, trust me, that, in time of need, 

This hand hath done more desperate deed. 

Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; 

Time calls, and I must needs be gone. 1 ' 

XXIY. 
Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 
A heart too soft from early life 
To hold with fortune needful strife. 
His sire, while yet a hardier race 1 
Of numerous sons were Wycliffe 's grace, 
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand, 
For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 

-1 £MS. " while yet around him stood 

A numerous race of hardier mood."] 



rokeby. Canto I. 

But a fond mother's care and joy 
Were centred in her sickly boy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 
Hour after hour he loved to pore 
On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore, 
But turn'd from martial scenes and light. 
From Falstaff's feast and Percy's fight, 
To ponder Jacques' moral strain, 
And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ; 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 

XXY. 

In youth he sought not pleasures found 
By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound ? 
But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
In Deepdale's solitude to lie, 
Where all is cliff and copse and sky ; 
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak, 
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 1 
Such was his wont ; and there his dream 
Soar'd on some wild fantastic theme, 
Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring, 
Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
The enthusiast could no more sustain, 
And sad he sunk to earth again, 

1 ["And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 
When all in mist the world below was lost, 
"What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand sublime^ 
Like shipwreckt mariner on desert coast." 

Beattie's Minstrel.} 



Canto L 



XXVI. 

He loved — as many a lay can tell, 
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell \ 
For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 

The art unteachabie, untaught ; 
He loved — his soul did nature frame 
For love, and fancy nursed the flame : 
Vainly he loved — for seldom swain 
Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
Silent he loved — in every gaze 
Was passion, 1 friendship in his phrase. 
So mused his life away — till died 
His brethren all, their father's pride. 
Wilfrid is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care, 
And destined, darkling, to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 

XXVII. 
Wilfrid must love and woo 9 the bright 

Matilda, heir of Kokeby's knight, 
To love her was an easy hest, 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her was a harder task 
To one that durst not hope or ask. 
Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave v 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste approved, 
And sung the lays he framed or loved • 

1 [MS.— " Was love, but friendship in his phrase."] 

2 [MS,— •'•' And first must Wilfrid woo." &c] 



44 rokeby. Canto I. 

Yet, lotli to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The favouring glance to friendship due, 1 
Then grieved to see her victim's pain, 
And gave the dangerous smiles again. 

XXVIII. 

So did the suit of Wilfrid stand, 

When war's load summons waked the land. 

Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 

The wo-foreboding peasant sees ; 

In concert oft they braved of old 

The bordering Scot's incursion bold : 

Frowning defiance in their pride, 2 

Their vassals now and lords divide. 

From his fair hall on Greta banks, 

The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks, 

To aid the valiant northern Earls, 

Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 

Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 

His sister had been Rokeby's bride, 

Though long before the civil fray, 

In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 

Philip of Mortham raised his band, 

And march 'd at Fairfax's command ; 

While Wycliffe, bound by many a train 

Of kindred art with wily Vane, 

Less prompt to brave the bloody field, 

Made Barnard's battlements his shield, 

1 [MS. — " The fuel fond her favour threw."] 

2 [MS. — " Now frowning dark on different side, 

Their vassals and their lords divide."] 



Canto I. rokeby. 45 

Secured them with his Lunedale powers, 
And for the Commons held the towers. 

XXIX. 

The lovely heir of JRokeby's Knight 1 
Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 
For England's war rever'd the claim 
Of every unprotected name, 
And spared, amid its fiercest rage, 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 2 
Must the dear privilege forego, 
By Greta's side, in evening grey. 
To steal upon Matilda's way, 
Striving, 3 with fond hypocrisy, 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Calming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the meeting all to chance, 
Or framing as a fair excuse, 
The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
Something to give, to sing, to say, 
Some modern tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the long'd-for minutes last, — 
All ! minutes quickly over-past ! — 4 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless courtesy, 

1 [MS.— " Dame Alice and Matilda bright, 

Daughter and wife of Rokeby' s Knight, 
Wait in his halls," &c.] 

2 [MS.— " But Wilfrid, when the strife arose, 

And Rokeby and his son were foes, 
VCas doom'd each privilege to lose, 
Of kindred friendship and the muse."] 

3 [MS, — " Aping, with fond hypocrisy, 

The careless step," &c] 

4 [The MS. has not this couplet."] 



46 rokeby. Canto I. 

Each friendly look, each softer tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 
Ail this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green, 1 
To watch Matilda's wonted round, 
While springs his heart at every sound. 
She comes ! — 'tis but a passing sight, 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She comes not — He will wait the hour, 
When her lamp lightens in the tower ; 2 
'Tis something yet, if, as she past, 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" What is my life, my hope ?" he said i 
" Alas ! a transitory shade." 

XXX. 

Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love, 
Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come, 
While still he turned impatient ear 
From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued, 
In all but this, unmov'd he view'd 
Each outward change of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
Was Fancy's spoil'd and wayward child ; 
In her bright car 3 she bade him ride, 
With one fair form to grace his side, 

' LMS.-" May Wilfrid haunt the| ,. 

Wilt rid haunts Scargill s) & 

2 [MS. — " Watch the hour, 

That her lamp kindles in her tower."] 

3 [MS.—" fVM car."]. 



Canto I. rokeby. 47 

Or, in some wild and lone retreat, 1 
Flung her high spells around his seat, 
Bathed in her dews his languid head, 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread, 
For him her opiates gave to flow, 
Which he who tastes, can ne'er forego, 
And placed him in her circle, free 
From every stern reality. 
Till, to the Visionary, seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 

XXXI. 

Woe to the youth, whom Fancy gains, 
Winning from Reason's hand the reins, 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
And woe to those who train such youth. 
And spare to press the rights of truth. 
The mind to stiengthen and anneal, 
W r hile on the stithy glows the steel ! 
O teach him, while your lessons last. 
To judge the present by the past • 
Remind him of each wish pursued, 
How rich it glow'd with promised good ; 
Remind him of each wish enjoy 'd, 
How soon his hopes possession cloy'd ! 



[MS.~ CC Or in some fair but lone retreat, 

Flung h-er -vrild spells around his seat, 
For him her opiates "* gave to ") 

opiate / draughts bade j flOT 
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego ; 
Taught him to turn impatient ear 
From truth's intrusive voice severe/'] 



43 roxkby. Canto I. 

Tell him, we play unequal game, 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ! * 
And, ere he strip him for her race, 
Show the conditions of the chase. 
Two sisters by the goal are set, 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenchants the winner's eyes, 
And strips of all its worth the prize. 
While one augments its gaudy show. 
More to enhance the loser's woe. 
The victor sees his fairy gold, 
Transformed, when won, to drossy mold, 
But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss, 
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 

XXXII. 

More wouldst thou know — yon tower survey, 
Yon couch unpress'd since parting day, 
Yon untrimm'd lamp, whose yellow gleam, 
Is mingling with the cold moonbeam, 
And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 2 
The head reclined, the loosen'd hair, 
The limbs relax'd, the mournful air. — 

1 [In the MS., after this couplet, the following lines conclude 
the stanza : — 

" That all who on her visions press, 
Find disappointment dog success ; 
But, miss'd their wish, lamenting hold 
Her gilding false for sterling gold."] 
2 [MS. — " On his pale cheek in crimson glow ; 
The short and painful sighs that show 
The shrivell'd lip, the teeth's white row, 
The head reclined," &c] 



Canto I. 



See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while, — 
'Tis fancy wakes some idle thought, 
To gild the ruin she has wrought 5 
For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain, 
She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 1 
Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast. 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
Another hour must wear away, 
Ere the East kindle into day, 
And hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 

XXXIII. 

TO THE MOON. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 2 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below, 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and wo ! 

1 [MS. ■ " the sleeper's pain, 

Drinks his dear life-blood from the vein."] 

2 [MS. — " Are tarnishing thy lovely dye ! 

A sad excuse let Fancy try — 
How should so kind a planet show 

Her stainless silver's lustre high, 
To light a world of war and wo ! "J 
D 



50 rokeby. Canto I. 

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide, 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
For, while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 

Was form'd to light some lonely dell, 
By two fond lovers only seen, 

Reflected from the crystal well, 
Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 

Or quivering on the lattice bright, 
Or glancing on their couch, to tell 

How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 

XXXIV. 

He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 

A voice !■ — his father seeks the tower, 

"With haggard look and troubled sense, 

Fresh from his dreadful conference. 

" Wilfrid !— -what, not to sleep address 'd ? 

Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 

Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor ; l 

Bertram brings warrant to secure 

His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 

For the state's use and public good. 

The menials will thy voice obey ; 

Let his commission have its way, 2 

i [MS.—" Here's Risingham brings tidings sure, 
Mortham has fallen on Marston Moor ; 
And he hath warrant to secure," &c.] 

2 [MS.— " See that they give his warrant way."] 



Cahto T. ROKEBY. 51 

In every point, in every word." — 
Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword ! 
Bertram is — what I must not tell. 
I hear his hasty step — farewell ! " 



t S3 j 



ROKEBY. 



CANTO SECOND. 



I. 

Far in the chambers of the west, 
The gale had siglvd itself to rest : 
The moon was cloudless now and clear. 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The thin grey clouds wax dimly light 
On Brusleton and Houghton height ; 
And the rich dale, that eastward lay, 
Waited the wakening touch of day, 
To give its woods and cultured plain, 
And towers and spires, to light again. 
But, westward, Stanrnore's shapeless swell, 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
While, as a livelier twilight falls, 
Emerge proud Barnard's banner *d walls. 
High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale. 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 



54 rokeby. Canto II. 

II. 

What prospects, from his watch-tower high, 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! 
Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of Tees, 1 
And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapours from the stream ; 
And ere he pace his destined hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower, 2 
These silver mists shall melt away, 
And dew the woods with glittering spray. 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone, 3 
And each huge trunk that, from the side, 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 
Where Tees, full many a fathom low, 
Wears with his rage no common foe \ 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career, 
Condemn 'd to mine a channelPd way, 
O'er solid sheets of marble grey. 

1 The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and magni- 
ficent valley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to the river, the banks 
are very thickly wooded ; at a little distance they are more open 
and cultivated : but, being interspersed with hedge-rows, and with 
isolated trees of great size and age, they still retain the richness of 
woodland scenery. The river itself flows in a deep trench of solid 
rock, chiefly limestone and marble. The finest view of its roman- 
tic course is from a handsome modern-built bridge over the Tees, 
by the late Mr. Morrit of Rokeby. In Leland's time, the marble 
quarries seem to have been of some value. " Hard under the cliff 
by Egleston, is found on eche side of Tees very fair marble, wont 
to be taken up booth by marbelers of Barnardes Castelle and of 
Egleston, and partly to have been wrought by them, and partly 
sold onwrought to others." — Itinerary. Oxford, 1768, 8vo, p. 88. 

2 [MS. — " Betwixt the gate and Baliol's tower."] 

3 [MS — " Those deep-hewn banks of living stone."] 



Canto II. ROKEBY. £5 

III. 

Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright, 

Shall rush upon the ravish 'd sight ; 

But many a tributary stream 

Each from its own dark dell shal] gleam : 

Staindrop, who, from her silvan bowers, 1 

Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 

The rural brook of Egliston, 

And Balder, named from Odin's son ; 

And Greta, to whose banks ere long 

We lead the lovers of the song •, 

And silver Lime, from Stanmore wild, 

And fairy Thorsgill's murmuring child, 

And last and least, but loveliest still, 

Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 

Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd, 

Yet long "d for Roslhvs magic glade ? 

Who, wandering there, hath sought to change, 

Even for that vale so stern and strange, 

Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent, 

Through her green copse like spires are sent ? 

Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine, 

Thy scenes and story to combine ! 

Thou bid^st him, who by Roslin strays, 

List to the deeds of other days -^ 

'jNIid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave, 

The refuge of thy champion brave ; 3 

Giving each rock its storied tale, 

Pouring a lay for every dale, 

1 [MS. — " Staindrop, -who, on her silvan way, 
Salutes proud Raby's turrets grey."] 

2 [See notes to the song of Fair Rosabelie, in "the Lay of the Last 
Minstrel, vol. vi. p. 205.] 

3 [Cartland Crags, near Lanark, celebrated as among the favour- 
ite retreats of Sir William Wallace.] 



56 rokeby. Canto II. 

Knitting, as with a moral band, 
Thy native legends with thy land, 
To lend each scene the interest high 
Which genius beams from Beauty's eye. 

IV. 

Bertram awaited not the sight 

Which sun-rise shows from Barnard's height, 

But from the towers, preventing day, 

With Wilfrid took his early way, 

While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale, 

Still mingled in the silent dale. 

By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, 

The southern bank of Tees they won ; 

Their winding path then eastward cast, 

And Egliston's grey ruins pass'd ; l 

Each on his own deep visions bent, 

Silent and sad they onward went. 

Well may you think that Bertram's mood, 2 

To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 

Well may you think bold Risingham 

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 

* The ruins of this abbey, or priory, (for Tanner calls it the for- 
mer, and L eland the latter), are beautifully situated upon the angle, 
formed by a little dell called Thorsgill, at its junction with the 
Tees. A good part of the religious house is still in some degree 
habitable, but the church is in ruins. Egliston was dedicated to 
St. Mary and St. John the Baptist, and is supposed to have been 
founded by Ralph de Multon about the end of Henry the Second's 
reign. There were formerly the tombs of the families of Rokeby, 
Bowes, and Fitz-Hugh. 

2 [MS. — "For brief the intercourse, I ween, 

Such uncongenial souls between ; 

Well may you think stern Risingham 

Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 

And nought of mutual interest lay 

To bind the comrades of the way."] 



Canto II. ROKEBY. 57 

And small the intercourse, I ween, 
Such uncongenial souls between. 

V. 

Stem Bertram shunn'd the nearer way, 
Through Rokeby's park and chase that lay, 
And, skirting high the valley's ridge, 
They crossed by Greta's ancient bridge, 
Descending where her waters wind 
Free for a space and unconfined, 
As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark-wood glen, 
She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 
There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound. 
Raised by that Legion 1 long renown xl, 
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
" Stem sons of war !" sad Wilfrid sighxl, 
" Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
What now of all your toils are known ? 
A grassy trench, a broken stone ! M — 
This to himself ; for moral strain 
To Bertram were addressed in vain. 

VI. 

Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high 2 

1 Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, there is a well- 
preserved Roman encampment, surrounded with a triple ditch, 
lying between the river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. The 
four entrances are easily to be discerned. Very many Roman 
altars and monuments have been found in the vicinity, most of 
which are preserved at Rokeby by my friend Mr. Morritt. Among 
others is a small votive altar, with the inscription, leg. vt. vie. p. 
f. f., which has been rendered, Legio> Sexta. VictrLv. Pia. Fort is, 
Fidelis, 

2 [See Appendix, Note K.I 



58 rokeby. Ca?ito II. 

Were northward in the dawning seen 
To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
O then, though Spenser's self had stray 'd 
Beside him through the lovely glade, 
Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
Of fancy, all its charms to show, 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
As captive set at liberty, 
Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, 1 
And clamouring joyful on her road ; 
Pointing where, up the sunny banks, 
The trees retire in scatter 'd ranks, 
Save where, advanced before the rest, 
On knoll or hillock rears his crest, 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions, when their band is broke, 
Stand forth to guard the rearward post, 
The bulwark of the scatter 'd host — 
All this, and more, might Spenser say, 
Yet waste in vain his magic lay, 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, 
Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower. 

VII. 

The open vale is soon pass'd o'er, 
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 2 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
A wild and darker course they keep, 



i [MS. — " Flashing to heaven her sparkling spray, 
And clamouring joyful on her way."] 

2 [MS. — f ' And Rokeby's tower is seen no more ; 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets green, 
The journeyers seek another scene."] 



Canto II. 



A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 

As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode l l 

Broad shadows o'er their passage fell, 

Deeper and narrower grew the dell ; 

It seem'd some mountain rent and riven, 

A channel for the stream had given, 

So high the cliffs of limestone grey 

Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way, 

Yielding, along their rugged base, 2 

A flinty footpath's niggard space, 

Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 

May hear the headlong torrent rave, 

And like a steed in frantic fit, 

That flings the froth from curb and bit, 3 

May view her chafe her waves to spray, 

O'er every rock that bars her way, 

Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 

Thick as the schemes of human pride 

That down life's current drive amain, 

As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 

VIII. 

The cliffs that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed, 
Were now all naked, wild, and grey, 
Now waving all with greenwood spray : 

1 [See Appendix, Note L.] 

2 [MS.—" Yielding their rugged base beside 

A | flinty \ th b Greta > s tide."] 
(.niggard ) J 

3 [MS.—" That flings the foa?yi from curb and bit. 

( tawny ^ 
Chafing her waves to-j whiten V wrath. 

v spungy J 
O'er every rock that bars her path. 
Till down her boiling eddies ride, :: ice] 



60 rokeby. Canto II. 

Here trees to every crevice clung, 
And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
And there, all splinter'd and uneven, 
The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven ; 
Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast, 1 
And wreathed its garland round their crest, 
Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air, 
As pennons wont to wave of old 
O'er the high feast of Baron bold, 
When revell'd loud the feudal rout, 
And the arch'd halls return'd their shout ; 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 
And such the echoes from her shore. 
And so the ivied banners' gleam 2 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks recede, 
But leave between no sunny mead, 
No, nor the spot of pebbly sand, 
Oft found by such a mountain strand ; 5 
Forming such warm and dry retreat, 
As fancy deems the lonely seat, 



1 [MS, — " Thefrequent ivy swathed their breast, 

And wreathed its tendrils round their crest, 
Or from their summit bade them fall, 
And tremble o'er the Greta's brawl."] 

2 [MS.—" And so the ivy's banners / g !* een ' 

\ gleam, 

( Waved wildly trembling o'er the scene, 
t Waved wild above the clamorous stream."] 

* [MS. "a torrent's strand ; 

Where in the warm and dry retreat, 
May fancy form some hermit's seat."] 



Canto IT. rokeby. 61 

Where hermit, wandering from his cell, 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here, twixt rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew, 1 

With whose sad tints were mingled seen 

The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 

Seem'd that the trees their shadows cast 

The earth that nourished them to blast ; 

For never knew that swarthy grove 

The verdant hue that fairies love •, 

Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower, 

Arose within its baleful bower : 

The dank and sable earth receives 

Its only carpet from the leaves, 

That from the withering branches cast, 

Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. 

Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 

In this dark spot 'twas twilight still, 2 

Save that on Greta's farther side 

Some straggling beams through copsewood glide ; 

And wild and savage contrast made 

That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 

With the bright tints of early day, 

1 [MS. — {: A darksome grove of funeral jew, 

Where trees a baleful shadow cast. 
The ground that nourished them to blast, 
Mingled with whose sad tints were seen 
The blighted fir's sepulchral green."] 

2 [MS.— "In this dark grove 'twas twilight still, 

Save that upon the rocks opposed 

Some straggling beams of morn reposed. 

And wild and savage contrast made 

That bleak and dark funereal shade 

With the bright tints of early day, 

Which, struggling through the greenwood spray, 

Upon the rock's wild summit lay."] 



62 rokeby. Canto II. 

Which, glimmering through the ivy spray, 
On the opposing summit lay. 

X. 

The lated peasant shunn'd the dell ; 

For Superstition wont to tell 

Of many a grisly sound and sight, 

Scaring its path at dead of night. 

When Christmas logs blaze high and wide, 

Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 

While Curiosity and Fear, 

Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near, 

Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 

And village maidens lose the rose. 

The thrilling interest rises higher, 1 

The circle closes, nigh and nigher, 

And shuddering glance is cast behind, 

As louder moans the wintry wind. 

Believe, that fitting scene was laid 

For such wild tales in Mortham glade ; 

For who had seen, on Greta's side, 

By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 

In such a spot, at such an hour, — 

If touch 'd by Superstition's power, 

Might well have deemed that Hell had given 

A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 

While Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide 

Like his pale victim by his side. 

XI. 

Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known ; 

i [MS.—" The interest rises high and higher."] 



Canto IT. rokeby. O'd 

For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind : 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barr'd, 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale, 
That in his secret soul retain'd 
The credence they in childhood gain'd : 
Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
Believed in every legend's truth ; 
Learn'd when, beneath the tropic gale, 
Full swell'd the vessel's steady sail, 
And the broad Indian moon her light 
Pour'd on the watch of middle night, 
When seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell : l 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore, 2 
How whistle rash bids tempests roar, 3 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite, 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ; 4 

i [The MS. has not the two following couplets.] 

2 [See Appendix, Note M.] 

3 [See Appendix, Note N.] 

4 " This Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held second to 
none in the magical art ; and he was so familiar with the evil spirits, 
which he exceedingly adored, that which way soever he turned 
his cap, the wind would presently blow that way. From this oc- 
casion he was called Windy Cap ; and many men believed that 
Regnerus, King of Denmark, by the conduct of this Ericus, who 
was his nephew, did happily extend his piracy into the most re- 
mote parts of the earth, and conquered many countries and fenced 
cities by his cunning, and at last was his coadjutor ; that by the 
consent of the nobles, he should be chosen King of Sweden, which 
continued a long time with him very happily, until he died of old 
age."— Olaus, id supra, p. 45. 



64 rokeby. Canto II. 

Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lower'd his every top-sail yard, 
And canvass wove in earthly looms, 
No more to brave the storm presumes ! 
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and top-gallant hoisted high, 
Full spread and crowded every sail, 
The Demon Frigate braves the gale -, 1 
And well the doom'd spectators know 
The harbinger of wreck and woe. 

XII. 

Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own ; 
How, by some desert isle or key, 2 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty, 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood, 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appaird the listening Bucanier, 
Whose light-armed shallop anchored lay 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
Ring from the moonlight groves of cane ; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies memory for a prayer, 
Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail, 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 

i [See Appendix, Note O.] 
2 [See Appendix, Note P.] 



Canto II. k kkby. 65 

XIII. 

Thus, as a man, a youth, a child 
Train'd in the mystic and the wild, 
With this on Bertram's soul at times 
Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes ; 
Such to his troubled soul their form, 
As the pale Death-ship to the storm, 
And such their omen dim and dread, 
As shrieks and voices of the dead, — 
That pang, whose transitory force 1 
Hover'd twixt horror and remorse : 
That pang, perchance, his bosom press "d, 
As Wilfrid sudden he address'd :— 
" Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 
Until the sun rides high abroad ; 
Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
A Form, that seem'd to dog our way ; 
Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee, 
And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 
How think'st thou ?— -Is our path way-laid ? 
Or hath thy sire my trust betray'd ? 

If so" Ere, starting from his dream, 

That turn'd upon a gentler theme, 

Wilfrid had roused him to reply, 

Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 

" Whate'er thou art, thou now slialt stand !"— - 

And forth he darted, sword in hand. 

XIY. 

As bursts the levin in its wrath, 2 

He shot him down the sounding path : 

1 [ilS. — " Its fell, though transitory force, 

Hovei^s 'twixt pity and remorse. 5 '*] 

2 [MS.— As bursts the levin-bolt f 1 ^} wrath."] 



66 rokeby. Canto II, 

Hock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out, 

To his loud step and savage shout. 1 

Seems that the object of his race 

Hath scal'd the cliffs ; his frantic chase 

Sidelong he turns, and now 'tis bent 

Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 

Straining each sinew to ascend, 

Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend, 

Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 

Views, from beneath, his dreadful way : - 

Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings, 

Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 

Now, like the -wild goat, must he dare 

An unsupported leap in air ; 2 

Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 

You mark him by the crashing bough, 

And by his corslet's sullen clank, 

And by the stones spurn'd from the bank. 

And by the hawk scar'd from her nest, 

And raven's croaking o'er their guest, 

Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 

The tribute of his bold essay. 

XV. 

See, he emerges ! — desperate now 3 
All farther course — Yon beetling brow, 

1 [MS.-—" To his fierce step and savage shout, 

Seems that the object of his < ^ 

Had scal'd the cliffs ; his desperate chase."] 

2 [MS. — " A desperate leap, through empty air ; 

Hid in the copse-clad rain-course now."] 

3 [MS. — " See, he emerges! — desperate now 

Toward the naked beetling brow, 
His progress— heart and foot must fail 
Yon upmost crag's bare peak to scale."] 



Canto II. rokebv. 67 



What heart or foot shall dare to climb ? 
It bears no tendril for his clasp, 
Presents no angle to his grasp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest upon, 
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
Balanced on such precarious prop, 1 
He strains his grasp to reach the top. 
Just as the dangerous stretch he makes, 
By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes ! 
Beneath his tottering bulk it bends, 
It sways, ... it loosens, ... it descends ! 
And downward holds its headlong way. 
Crashing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 
Loud thunders shake the echoing dell ! — 
Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate, 
The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands, 
And on the top unharm'd he stands ', - 

XVI. 

Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 

At intervals where, roughly hew'd, 

Rude steps ascending from the dell 
Render'd the cliffs accessible. 



1 [MS. — " Perch' d like an eagle on its top, 
Balanced on its uncertain prop. 
Just as the perilous stretch he makes. 
By heaven, his tottering footstool shakes."] 
2 [Opposite to this line the MS. has this note, meant to amuse 
Mr. Ballantyne : — " If my readers will not allow that I have 
climbed Parnassus, they must grant that I have turned the Kittle 
Xine Steps." — See note to Redgauntlet.— Waverley Novels, vol. 
xxxv. p. 6.] 



68 rokeby. Canto II. 

By circuit slow he thus attain'd 
The height that Risingham had gain'd, 
And when he issued from the wood, 
Before the gate of Mortham stood. 1 
'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tower and portal grey : 
And from the grassy slope he sees 
The Greta flow to meet the Tees ; 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern red, 
And through the softening vale below 
Roll'd her bright waves, in rosy glow, 
All blushing, to her bridal bed, 2 
Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
"While linnet, laik, and blackbird gay, 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 

XVII. 

^Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
That summer mom shone blithe and gay ; 
But morning beam, and wild-bird's call, 
Awaked not Mortham's silent hall. 
No porter, by the low-brow 'd gate, 
Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
To the paved court no peasant drew ; 
Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 
The maiden's carol was not heard, 
As to her morning task she fared : 
In the void offices around, 
Rung not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound ; 



1 [See Appendix, Note Q.] 

2 [MS. — " As some fair maid in cloister bred, 

Is blushing to her bridal led."] 



Canto II. rokeev. 6*9 

Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh. 
Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrimm'd, undress'd, neglected now, 
Was alley'd walk and orchard bough ; 
All spoke the master's absent care, 1 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South of the gate, an arrow flight, 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite, 
As if a canopy, to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead : 
For their huge bows in arches bent 
Above a massive monument, 
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise. 
With many a scutcheon and device : 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pondering by the tomb. 

XVIII. 

" It vanished like a flitting ghost ! 
Behind this tomb," he said, ' ; 'twas lost — . 
This tomb, where oft I deem'd lies stored 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
'Tis true, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid : 2 
But weightier reasons may be guess'd 
For their lord's strict and stern behest, 

3 [MS.—" All spoke the master absent far, 

All spoke |?, e S lectan n civil ™. 
\tlie woes ot ) 

Close by the gate, an arch combined. 

Two haughty elms their branches twined/'] 

- [MS.—" Here lies the partner of his bed ; 

But weightier reasons should appear 

For all his moonlight wanderings here.. 

And for the sharp rebuke they got 

That pried around his favourite spot."] 



70 rokeby. Canto II. 

That none should on his steps intrude, 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
An ancient mariner I knew, 
What time I sail'd with Morgan's crew, 
Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 
Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 
Adventurous hearts ! who barter 'd, bold, 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not, would his experience say, 
Captain or comrade with your prey ; 
But seek some charnel, when, at full, 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull ; 
There dig, and tomb your precious heap ; 
And bid the dead your treasure keep ;* 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task compel. 
Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave, 2 
Or prisoner, on the treasure grave ; 
And bid his discontented ghost 

Stalk nightly on his lonely post 

Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween, 
Is in my morning vision seen." — 

1 If time did not permit the Bucaniers to lavish away their plun- 
der in their usual debaucheries, they were wont to hide it, with 
many superstitious solemnities, in the desert islands and keys which 
they frequented, and where much treasure, whose lawless owners 
perished without reclaiming it, is still supposed to be concealed. 
The most cruel of mankind are often the most superstitious ; and 
these pirates are said to have had recourse to a horrid ritual, in 
order to secure an unearthly guardian to their treasures. They 
killed a Negro or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, be- 
lieving that his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify away all 
intruders. I cannot produce any other authority on which this 
custom is ascribed to them than that of maritime tradition, which 
is, however, amply sufficient for the purposes of poetry. 

2 [MS. — " Lacks there such charnel-vault ? — a slave, 
Or prisoner, slaughter on the grave."] 



Canto II. ItOKEBY. 71 

XIX. 

Wilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wild, 

In mingled mirth and pity smiled, 

Much marvelling that a breast so bold 

In such fond tale belief should hold -} 

But yet of Bertram sought to know 

The apparition's form and show. — 

The power within the guilty breast, 

Oft vanquished, never quite suppressed, 

That unsubdued and lurking lies 

To take the felon by surprise, 

And force him, as by magic spell, 

In his despite his guilt to tell, 2 — 

That power in Bertram's breast awoke ; 

Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke *, 

u 'Twas Morthanrs form, from foot to head ! 

His morion, with the plume of red, 

His shape, his mien — 'twas Mortham, right 

As when I slew him in the fight.'"' — 

" Thou slay him ? — thou ?" — With conscious start 

He heard, then mann'd his haughty heart — . 

M I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 

Thou, stripling, knew^st not of the plot. 

But it is spoken — nor will I 

Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 

I slew him ; I ! for thankless pride ; 

Twas by this hand that Mortham died." 

XX. 

Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart. 
Averse to every active part, 



i [MS.— "Should faith in such a fable hold."] 
2 [See Appendix. Note R.~] 



Canto II. 



But most averse to martial broil, 

From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil ; 

Yet the meek lover of the lyre 

Nursed one brave spark of noble fire ; 

Against injustice, fraud, or wrong, 

His blood beat high, his hand wax'd strong. 

Not his the nerves that could sustain, 

Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ; 

But, when that spark blazed forth to flame, 1 

He rose superior to his frame. 

And now it came, that generous mood ; 

And, in full current of his blood, 

On Bertram he laid desperate hand, 

Placed firm his foot, and drew his brand. 

" Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt sold, 

Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold 

Arouse there, ho ! take spear and sword ! 
Attach the murderer of your Lord !" 

XXI. 

A moment, fix'd as by a spell, 

Stood Bertram — It seenfd miracle, „ 

That one so feeble, soft, and tame, 

Set grasp on warlike Hismgham. 

But when he felt a feeble stroke, 2 

The fiend within the ruffian woke \ 

To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand, 

To dash him headlong on the sand, 

Was but one moment's work, — one more 

Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore ; 

i [MS.— " But, when blazed forth that noble flame."] 
2 [MS.—" At length, at slight and feeble stroke, 

That razed the skin, his {r a T d } awoke -''] 



Canto IT. 



But. in the instant it arose. 
To end his life, his love, his woes, 
A warlike form, that mark'd the scene, 
Presents his rapier sheathed between, 
Parries the fast-descending blow, 
And steps twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 
Nor then unscabbarded his brand. 
But, sternly pointing with his hand, 
With monarch's voice forbade the fight. 
And motion *d Bertram from his sight. 
44 Go, and repent," — he said, •• while time 
Is given thee ; add not crime to crime." 

XXII. 

Mute, and uncertain, and amazed, 

As on a vision, Bertram gazed ! 

Twas Morthanrs bearing, bold and high, 1 

His sinewy frame, his falcon eye, 

His look and accent of command. 

The martial gesture of his hand, 

His stately form, spare-built and tall, 

His war-bleach'd locks — 'twas Mortham all. 

Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 2 

A thousand thoughts, and all of fear ; 

His wavering faith received not quite 

The form he saw as Mortham's sprite. 



i [MS. — •'•' Twas Mortham's spare and sinewy frame, 

His falcon eye. his glance of flame/'] 

- [MS. — •' A thousand thoughts, and all of fear. 
Dizzied his "brain in wild career ;. 
Doubting, and not receiving quite. 
The form he sa^v as Mortham's sprite, 
Still more he fear'd it. if it stood 
His living lord, in flesh and blood.'"" 



74 rokeby. Canto II. 

But more he fear'd it, if it stood 

His lord, in li ving flesh and blood.— 

What spectre can the charnel send, 

So dreadful as an injured friend ? 

Then, too, the habit of command, 

Used by the leader of the band, 

When Risingham, for many a day, 

Had march'd and fought beneath his sway, 

Tamed him — and, with reverted face, 

Backwards he bore his sullen pace -, 1 

Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham stared, 

And dark as rated mastiff glared ; 

But when the tramp of steeds was heard, 

Plunged in the glen, and disappeared, 

Nor longer there the Warrior stood, 

Retiring eastward through the wood ; 2 

But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 

" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives. 1 ' 

XXIII. 

Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear, 

Hinting he knew not what of fear •, 

When nearer came the coursers' tread, 

And, with his father at their head, 

Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 

Rein'd up their steeds before the tower. 3 

" Whence these pale looks, my son ?" he said 

" Where's Bertram ? — Why that naked blade ?" — 

Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 

(For Mortham's charge his honour tied,) 



1 |_MS. — " Slow he retreats with sullen pace."] 

s [MS. — " Retiring through the thickest wood."] 

3 [MS. — " Rein'd up their steeds by Mortham tower."] 



to If. 



*• Bertram is gone — the villain's word 

Avouch'd him murderer of his lord ! 

Even now we fought — but, when your tread 

Announced you nigh, the felon fled. v 

In Wycliffe's conscious eye appear 

A guilty hope, a guilty fear •. 

On his pale brow the dewdrop broke, 

And his lip quivei'd as he spoke : — 

XXIV. 
i - A murderer ! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
Yet, grant such strange confession true, 
Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near his side, 
Brave Pokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And followed now in WyclifrVs train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 
His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck, 
Chafed not against the curb more high 
Than he at Oswald's cold reply ; 
He bit his lip, implored his saint, 
(His the old faith) — then burst restraint, 

XXV. 

•• Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall. 1 
By that base traitor's dastard ball, 

: IMS.— •'•' Yes! I beheld himfouMy slain, 
By that base traitor of las train.**] 



Rokeby. Canto IT. 

Just when I thought to measure sword, 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
And shall the murderer 'scape, who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true ? * 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry, 2 

False Risingham shall yield or die 

Ring out the castle 'larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride ! 
Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be, 
That honours Mortham's memory, 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name ! " 

XXVI. 

Instant to earth young Redmond sprung ; 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band, 
Who waited not their lord's command. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
His pistols in his belt he placed, 
The green-wood gain'd, the footsteps traced, 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
" To cover, hark ! " — and in he bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 

1 [MS. — " A knight, so generous, braA'e, and true."] 

2 [MS. " that dew shall drain, 

False Risingham shall be kill'd or ta'en."] 



I II. ROKEBV. 77 

But venture not, in useless strife, 
On ruffian desperate of his life, 
"Whoever finds him, shoot him dead ! 
Five hundred nobles for his head ! " 

XXVII. 

The horsemen gallop'd to make good 

Each path that issued from the wood. 

Loud from the thickets rung the shout 

Of Redmond and his eager route ; 

With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire, 

And envying Redmond's martial fire, 1 

And emulous of fame. — But where 

Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ? 

He, bound by honour, law, and faith, 

Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 

Leaning against the elmin tree, 

With drooping head and slacken'd knee, 

And clenched teeth, and close- clasp M hands, 

In agony of soul he stands ! 

His downcast eye on earth is bent, 

His soul to every sound is lent ; 

For in each shout that cleaves the air, 

May ring discovery and despair. 

XXVIII. 

"What 'vail'd it him, that brightly playM 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade ? 
All seems in giddy round to ride, 
Like objects on a stormy tide, 
Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 
Imperfectly to sink and swim. 

i [MS.— " Jealous 0/ Redmond's nubU fire."] 



78 ROKEBY. Canto II. 

What 'vail'd it, that the fair domain, 
Its battled mansion, hill and plain, 
On which the sun so brightly shone, 
Envied so long, was now his own ? 
The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 
Of Brackenbury 's dismal tower, 1 
Had been his choice, could such a doom 
Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! 
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 
To each surmise of hope or fear, 
Murmur 'd among the rustics round, 
Who gather'd at the 'larum sound ; 
He dared not turn his head away, 
E'en to look up to heaven to pray, 
Or call on hell, in bitter mood, 
For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 

XXIX. 

At length o'erpast that dreadful space, 
Back straggling came the scatter'd chase ; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
Return'd the troopers, one by one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 
All trace was lost of Bertram's way, 

1 This tower has been already mentioned. It is situated near the 
north-eastern extremity of the wall which encloses Barnard Castle, 
and is traditionally said to have been the prison. By an odd coin- 
cidence, it bears a name which we naturally connect with impri- 
sonment, from its being that of Sir Robert Brackenbury, lieutenant 
of the Tower of London under Edward IV. and Richard III. 
There is, indeed, some reason to conclude, that the tower may ac- 
tually have derived the name from that family, for Sir Robert 
Brackenbury himself possessed considerable property not far from 
Barnard Castle. 



o IT. 



Though Redmond still, up Brignall wood, 1 
The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 
O, fatal doom of human race ! 
What tyrant passions passions chase ! 
Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone, 
Avarice and pride resume their throne ; ~ 
The pang of instant terror by, 
They dictate thus their slave's reply : — 

XXX. 

41 Ay — let him range like hasty hound ! 
And if the grim wolf's lair be found, 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond, or with Risingham.— 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 
To that bold^youth of Erin's blood. 
Thy ditties will she freely praise, 
And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ; 
In a rough path will oft command — 
Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 
His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd, 
Unwilling takes his profferd aid, 
While conscious passion plainly speaks 
In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 
Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh, 
And all her soul is in her eye ; 
Yet doubts she still to tender free 
The wonted words of courtesy. 

' [MS.— " Though Redmond still, as unsubdued.'" 
2 [The MS. adds :— 

" Of Mortham's treasure novr he dreams.. 

Now nurses more ambitious schemes."] 



80 rokeby. Canto II. 

These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore sigh, 
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 
Thine shall she be, if thou attend 
The counsels of thy sire and friend. 

XXXI. 

" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light 1 
Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 
Brave Cromwell turn'd the doubtful tide, 
And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; 
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; 
Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 
Must fine for freedom and estate. 
Of these, committed to my charge^ 
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 
Redmond, his page, arrived to say 
He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. 
Right heavy shall his ransom be, 
Unless that maid compound with thee ! 2 



1 CMS. — " This Redmond brought at peep of light 
The news of Marston's happy fight."] 
2 After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle re- 
tired beyond sea in disgust, and many of his followers laid down 
their arms, and made the best composition they could with the 
Committees of Parliament. Fines were imposed upon them in 
proportion to their estates and degrees of delinquency, and these 
fines were often bestowed upon such persons as had deserved well 
of the Commons. In some circumstances it happened, that the 
oppressed cavaliers were fain to form family alliances with some 
powerful person among the triumphant party. The whole of Sir 
Robert Howard's excellent comedy of The Committee turns upon 
the plot of Mr. and Mrs. Day to enrich their family, by compelling 
Arabella, whose estate was under sequestration, to marry their 
son Abel, as the price by which she was to compound with Parlia- 
ment for delinquency ; that is, for attachment to the royal cause. 



Canto IF. rokebv. 81 

Go to her now — be bold of cheer 

"While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear ; 

It is the very change of tide, 

When best the female heart is tried — 

Pride, prejudice, and modesty, 

Are in the current swept to sea ; l 

And the bold swain, who plies his oar 

May lightly row his bark to shore." 

1 [MS.—** In the warm ebb are swept to sea."] 



[ 33 ] 



ROKEBY. 



CANTO THIRD, 



I. 

The hunting tribes of air and earth 
Respect the brethren of their birth : 1 
Nature, who loves the claim of kind, 
Less cruel chase to each assign'd. 
The falcon, poised on soaring wing, 
Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair ; 
The greyhound presses on the hare ; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, 
Their likeness and their lineage spare, 
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, 
And turns the fierce pursuit on man ; 

i ["MS — " The I er \ tribes of earth and air, 
i .no. iiic ^ meaner j 

In the wild chase their kindred spare." 
The second couplet interpolated.] 



84 rokeby, Canto III. 

Plying war's desultory trade, 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, 1 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son, 
At first the bloody game begun. 

II. 

The Indian, prowling for his prey, 

Who hears the settlers track his way, 

And knows in distant forest far 

Camp his red brethren of the war ; 

He, when each double and disguise 

To baffle the pursuit he tries, 

Low crouching now his head to hide, 

Where swampy streams through rushes glide, 2 

Now covering with the wither 'd leaves 

The foot-prints that the dew receives -, 3 

He, skilPd in every silvan guile, 

Knows not, nor tries, such various wile, 

As Eisingham, when on the wind 

Arose the loud pursuit behind. 

In Redesdale his youth had heard 

Each art her wily dalesmen dared, 

When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high, 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry, 4 

Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, 

And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 

And well his venturous life had proved 

The lessons that his childhood loved. 



* [MS. — " Invasion, flight, and ambuscade."] 

2 [MS. — " Where the slow waves through rushes glide."] 

3 See Appendix, Note S. 

4 See Appendix, Note T. 



Canto III. 



III. 

Oft had he shown, in climes afar, 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, 
The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
The speed, that in the flight or chase, 
Outstripped the Charib's rapid race ; 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb, 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
The iron frame, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air, 
Nor iess confirm'd to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
These arts he proved, his life to save ? 
In peril oft by land and wave, 
On Arawaca's desert shore, 
Or where La Plata's billows roar, 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Track'd the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare tried, 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 

IV. 

'Twas then, in hour of utmost need, 

He proved his courage, art, and speed. 

Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace, 

Now started forth in rapid race, 

Oft doubling back in mazy train. 

To blind the trace the dews retain \ l 

Now clombe the rocks projecting high, 

To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 

Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 

The echo of his footsteps drown'd. 

i (MS.—'-' "Where traces in the dew remain/'] 



36 ROKEBY. Canto IH. 

But if the forest verge he nears, 

There trample steeds, and glimmer spears ; 

If deeper down the copse he drew, 

He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 

Beating each cover while they came, 

As if to start the silvan game. 

'Twas then — like tiger close beset 1 

At every pass with toil and net, 

'Count er'd where'er he turns his glare, 

By clashing arms and torches' flare, 

Who meditates, with furious bound, 

To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, — " 2 

"Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, 

Prompting to rush upon his foes : 

But as that crouching tiger, cow'd 

By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd, 

Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 

Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 

And couches in the brake and fern, 

Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 3 

1 [MS. — " And oft his soul within him rose, 

Prompting to rush upon his foes, 

And oft, like tiger toil-beset, 

That in each pass finds foe and net." &c] 

2 [In the MS. the stanza concludes thus : 

" Suspending yet his purpose stem. 

He couch'd him in the brake and fern ; 

Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 

The sparkle of his swarthy eye."] 
3 After one of the recent battles, in which the Irish rebels were 
defeated, one of their most active leaders was found in a bog : in 
which he was immersed up to the shoulders, while his head was 
concealed by an impending ledge of turf. Being detected and 
seized, notwithstanding his precaution, he became solicitous to 
know how his retreat had been discovered. " I caught," answered 
the Sutherland Highlander, by whom he was taken, " the sparkle 



Canto III. ROKEBY. o7 

V. 

Then Bertram might the bearing trace 

Of the bold youth who led the chase \ 

Who paused to list for every sound, 

ClimVd every height to look around, 

Then rushing on with naked sword, 

Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 

'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye ; 

Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 

Disorder'd from his glowing cheek ; 

Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak, 

A form more active, light, and strong. 

Ne'er shot the ranks of war along •, 

The modest, yet the manly mien, 

Might grace the court of maiden queen ; 

A face more fair you well might find, 1 

For Redmond's knew the sun and wind, 

Nor boasted, from their tinge when free, 

The charm of regularity ; 

But every feature had the power 

To aid the expression of the hour : 

Whether gay wit, and humour sly, 

Danced laughing in his light-blue eye ; 

Or bended brow, and glance of fire, 

And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 

Or soft and sadden'd glances show 

Her ready sympathy with woe ; 
of your eye." Those who are accustomed to mark hares upon their 
form usually discover them by the same circumstance. 2 

1 [These six couplets were often quoted by the late Lord Kin- 
nedder as giving in his opinion an excellent portrait of the author 
himself. — Ed.] 

2 [Sir Walter Scott coutinued to he fond of coursing hares long 
after he had laid aside all other field-sports, and he used to say jo- 
cularly, that he had more pleasure in being considered an excel- 
lentfinder, than in all his reputation as a trouveur.— Ed."] 



88 rokeby. Canto III. 

Or in that wayward mood of mind, 

When various feelings are combined, 

When joy and sorrow mingle near, 

And hope's bright wings are check'd by fear, 

And rising doubts keep transport down, 

And anger lends a short-lived frown ; 

In that strange mood which maids approve 

Even when they dare not call it love ; 

With every change his features play'd, 

As aspens show the light and shade. 1 

VI. 

Well Risingham young Redmond knew : 
And much he marvell'd that the crew, 
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead, 
Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 
For never felt his soul the woe, 
That wails a generous foeman low, 
Far less that sense of justice strong, 
That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 
But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause : 2 
And twice that Redmond came so near 
Where Bertram couch'd like hunted deer, 
The very boughs his steps displace, 
Rustled against the ruffian's face, 
Who, desperate, twice prepared to start, 
And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 
But Redmond turn'd a different way, 
And the bent boughs resumed their sway, 

* [In the MS. this image comes after the line " to aid the expres- 
sion of the hour," and the couplet stands : 

" And like a flexile aspen play'd 

Alternately in light and shade."] 

2 £MS. — " The chase he heads, whate'er the cause."] 



Canto III. rokeey. 89 

And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
"When roving hunters beat the brake, 
Watches with red and glistening eye, 
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, 
With forked tongue and venom xl fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside, 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
And through the deep savannah wind. 
Some undisturbed retreat to find- 

VII. 
But Bertram, as he backward drew, 
And heard the loud pursuit renew, 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
Oft mutter'd in his savage mind — 
" Redmond O'Xeale 1 were thou and I 
Alone this day's event to try, 
With not a second here to see, 
But the grey cliff and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud, 
Should ne'er repeat its summons proud ! 
No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower. " 
Eluded, now behind him die, 
Faint and more faint, each hostile cry *, 
He stands in Scargili wood alone, 
Is or hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry. 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild. 
The summer sun in quiet smiled. 



90 rokeby. Canto III. 

VIII. 

He listen'd long with anxious heart, 

Ear bent to hear, and foot to start, 1 

And, while his stretch'd attention glows, 

Refused his weary frame repose. 

9 Twas silence all — he laid him down, 

Where purple heath profusely strown, 

And throatwort with its azure bell, 2 

And moss and thyme his cushion swelL 

There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 

The course of Greta's playful tide ; 

Beneath, her banks now eddying dum, 

Now brightly gleaming to the sun, 

As, dancing over rock and stone, 

In yellow light her currents shone, 

Matching in hue the favourite gem 

Of Albin's mountain-diadem. 

Then, tired to watch the current's play, 

He turn'd his weary eyes away, 

To where the bank opposing show'd 

Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy wood. 5 

One, prominent above the rest, 

Rear'd to the sun its pale grey breast ; 

Around its broken summit grew 

The hazel rude, and sable yew ; 



} [MS. * " and limbs to start, 

And, while his stretch'd attention glows, 
Scarce felt his weary frame repose."] 
2 The Campanula Latifolia, grand throatwort, or Canterbury 
bells, grows in profusion upon the beautiful banks of the rive? 
Greta, where it divides the manors of Brignall and Scargill, about 
three miles above Greta Bridge. 

a [MS. " show'd, 

With many a rocky fragment rude, 
Its old grey cliffs and shaggy wood."] 



Canto III. ROKEBY. 9] 

A thousand varied lichens dyed 
Its waste and weather-beaten side. 
And round its rugged basis lay, 
By time or thunder rent away, 

Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, 
Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 
Such was the scene's wild majesty, 
That fill'd stern Bertram's gazing eye, 1 

IX. 

In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
Revolving, in his stormy mind. 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt. 
His patron's blood by treason spilt : 
A ciime. it seem'd, so dire and dread. 
That it had power to wake the dead. 
Then, pondering on his life betray'd' 2 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade. 
In treacherous purpose to withhold. 
So seem'd it. Mortmain's promised gold. 
A deep and full revenge he vow"d 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and proud : 
Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! — 
If, in such mood, (as legends say. 
And well believed that simple day.) 
The Enemy of Man has power 
To profit by the evil hour, 
Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge ! 3 

i [The MS. adds: 

" Yet as he gazed, he fail'd to find 
According image touch his mind."] 

2 [MS.— " Then thought he on his life betray'd."] 

3 [See Appendix,. Note V ,~ 



92 rokeby. Canio IIT. 

But though his vows, with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made, 1 
As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
No deeper clouds the grove embrown'd, 
No nether thunders shook the ground ; — 
The demon knew his vassal's heart, 
And spared temptation's needless art. 

X. 

Oft, mingled with the direful theme. 

Came Mortham's form — Was it a dream ? 

Or had he seen, in vision true, 

That very Mortham whom he slew ? 

Or had in living flesh appeared 

The only man on earth he fear'd ?— , 

To try the mystic cause intent, 

His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 

'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance, 

Like sunbeam flash'd from sword or lance. 

At once he started as for fight, 

But not a foeman was in sight ; 2 

He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse, 

He heard the river's sounding course ; 

The solitary woodlands lay, 

As slumbering in the summer ray. 

He gazed, like lion roused, around, 

Then sunk again upon the ground. 

'Twas but, he thought, some fitful beam, 

Glanced sudden from the sparkling stream ; 



1 [MS. — " For deep and dark revenge were made, 

As well might wake hell's lowest shade."] 

2 [MS.—" Look'd round— no foeman was in sight."] 



Canto III. 



Then plunged him from his gloomy train 
Of ill-connected thoughts again, 
Until a voice behind him cried, 
" Bertram ! well met on Greta side/ 1 

XL 

Instant his sword was in his hand, 

As instant sunk the ready brand ; 

Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 

To him that issued from the wood : 

" Guy Denzil ! — is it thou ?" he said ; 

" Do we two meet in Scargill shade ! — 

Stand back a space I — thy purpose show. 

Whether thou com'st as friend or foe. 

Report hath said, that DenziPs name 

From Rokeby's band was razed with shame/*— 

66 A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 

Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 

Of my marauding on the clowns 

Of Calverley and Bradford downs/ 

I reck not. In a war to strive, 

Where, save the leaders, none can thrive. 

Suits ill my mood ; and better game 

Awaits us both, if thou , rt the same 

Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 2 

Who watch'd with me in midnight dark, 

To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 

How think'st thou ? M __" Speak thy purpose out 

I love not mystery or doubt/'— 

XIL 

" Then, list. — -Net far there lurk a crew 
Of trusty comrades, stanch and true. 

1 [See Appendix, Note V.] 

5 [MS. — " Unscrupulous, gallant Rising-ham."] 



04 rokeby. Canto III, 

GJean'd from both Mictions— Roundheads, freed 

From cant of sermon and of creed •, 

And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine^ 

Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 

Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 

A warfare of our own to hold, 

Than breathe our last on battle-down, 

For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 

Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 

A chief and leader lack we yet 

Thou art a wanderer, it is said ; 

For Mortham's death, thy steps way-laid, 1 

Thy head at price — so say our spies, 

Who range the valley in disguise. 

Join then with us : — though wild debate 

And wrangling rend our infant state, 

Each to an equal loth to bow, 

Will yield to chief renown'd as thou." — 

XIII. 

" Even now," thought Bertram, u passion-stirr'd, 
I call'd on hell, and hell has heard ! 2 
What lack I, vengeance to command, 
But of stanch comrades such a band ? 3 
This Denzil, vow'd to every evil, 
Might read a lesson to the devil. 
Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 
Shall serve as my revenge's tool." — . 



1 [MS. — " Thy head at price, thy steps way -laid."] 

2 [ " fbut half wish'd 

To see the devil, and he's here already." 

Otwav. ] 

3 [MS.— :: What lack I my revenge to quench. 

But such a band of comrades stanch."] 



Canto III. rokeby. 95 

Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, 

But tell me "where thy comrades lie ?" — 

" Not far from hence," Guy Deuzil said ; 

" Descend, and cross the river's bed, 

"Where rises yonder cliff so grey." — 

" Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the way." 

Then mutter'd, " It is best make sure ; 

Guy Denzil's faith was never pure." 

He follow'd down the steep descent, 

Then through the Greta's streams they went ; 

And, when they reach 'd the farther shore, 

They stood the lonely cliff before. 

XIV. 

With wonder Bertram heard within 
The flinty rock a murmur 'd din ; 
But when Guy pull'd the wilding spray, 
And brambles, from its base away, 1 
He saw, appearing to the air, 
A little entrance, low and square, 
Like opening cell of hermit lone, 
Dark, winding through the living stone. 
Here enterd Denzil, Bertram here ; 
And loud and louder on their ear, 
As from the bowels of the earth, 
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. . 
Of old, the cavern strait and rude, 
In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 
And Brignall's woods, and ScargilTs wave, 
E'en now, o'er many a sister cave, 2 

1 [MS.—" But when Guy Denzil pull'd the spray, 
And brambles from its roots away, 
He saw, forth issuing to the air."] 
2 The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge, abound in 



Canto III. 



Where, far within the darksome rift, 
The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
But war had silenced rural trade, 
And the deserted mine was made 
The banquet-hall and fortress too, 
Of Denzil and his desperate crew. — 
There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 
There, on his sordid pallet, slept 
Guilt-bom Excess, the goblet drain 'd 
Still in his slumbering grasp retain'd ; 
Regret was there, his eye still cast 
With vain repining on the past ; 
Among the feasters waited near 
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 
With his own crimes reproaching heaven ; 
While Bertram show'd, amid the crew, 
The Master-Fiend that Milton drew. 

XV. 

Hark ! the loud revel wakes again, 
To greet the leader of the train. 
Behold the group by the pale lamp, 
That struggles with the earthy damp. 
By what strange features Vice has known, 
To single out and mark her own ! 
Yet some there are, whose brows retain 
Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. 



seams of greyish slate, which are wrought in some places to a very 
great depth under ground, thus forming artificial caverns, which, 
when the seam has been exhausted, are gradually hidden by the 
underwood which grows in profusion upon the romantic banks of 
the river. In times of public confusion, they might be well adapted 
to the purposes of banditti. 



Canto III. rokeby. 97 

See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 

A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 

Now, "gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, 

An early image fills his mind : 

The cottage, once his sire's, he sees, 

Embower'd upon the banks of Tees ; 

Re views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 

And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 

A tear is springing — but the zest 

Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, 

Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. 

On him they call, the aptest mate 

For jovial song and merry feat ; 

Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air, 

As one victorious o'er Despair, 

He bids the ruddy cup go round. 

Till sense and sorrow both are drown "d ; 

And soon, in merry wassail, he, 1 

The life of all their revelry, 

Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 

Her blossoms on the wildest ground, 

Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd. 

Themselves all profitless and rude 

With desperate merriment he sung, 
The cavern to the chorus rung ; 
Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
Remorse's bitter agony. 

XVL 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
And Greta woods are green, 

1 [MS, — " And soon the loudest wassailer he. 
And life of all their revelry."] 
G 



98 rokeby. Canto III. 

And you may gather garlands there, 

Would grace a summer queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

" 0, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 

Than reign our English queen. " — 

" If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, 

To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we, 

That dwell by dale and down ? 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 

As read full well you may, 
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, 

As blithe as Queen of May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are green ; 
I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 

Than reign our English queen. 

XVII. 

" I read you, by your bugle-horn, 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn, 

To keep the king's greenwood." — 
" A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 'tis at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry morn, 

And mine at dead of night." — 



Canto III, rokeby. 99 

CHORUS. 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" With burnish 'd brand and musketoon, 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum."' — 
" I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum, 

My comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS. 

" And, O ! though Brignall banks be fair, 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 

Would reign my Queen of May ! 

XVIII. 

" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I'll die •, 
The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, 1 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I'm with my comrades met, 2 

Beneath the greenwood bough, 
What once we were we all forget, 

Nor think what we are now. 



1 [MS. — " The goblin-light on fen or mead."] 

2 [MS.— " And were I with my true love set 

Under the greenwood bough, 

What once I was she must forget, 

Nor think what I am now.''] 



100 rokeby. Canto III. 

CHORUS. 

" Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 

And Greta woods are green, 
And von may gather garlands there 

Would grace a summer queen." 

When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
Was silence on the sullen throng, 
Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But, far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
Of import foul and fierce, design'd, 
While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
The wealth of murder 'd Mortham hung ; 
Though half he fear'd his daring tongue, 
When it should give his wishes birth, 1 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 

XIX. 

At length his wondrous tale he told : 

When, scornful, smiled his comrade bold ; 

For, train'd in license of a court, 

Religion's self was Denzil's sport : 

Then judge in what contempt he held 

The visionary tales of eld ! 

His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 

The unbeliever's sneering jest. 

" 'Twere hard," he said, " for sage or seer, 2 

To spell the subject of your fear ; 



[MS. " give the project birth."] 

' [MS. — " ' 'Twere hard, my friend,' he said, 'to spell 
The morning vision that you tell ; 



Canto III. rokebv. 101 

Xor do I boast the art renown'd, 
Vision and omen to expound. 
Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
To spectre watching treasured hoard, 
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof, 
Bidding the plunderer stand aloof, 
This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt ; 
For why his guard on Mortham hold, 
"When Rokeby castle hath the gold 
Thy patron won on Indian soil, 1 
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ?" — 

XX. 

At this he paused — for angry shame 

Lower'd on the brow of Risingham. 

He blush'd to think, that he should seem 

Assertor of an airy dream, 

And gave his wrath another theme. 

" Denzil," he says, i; though lowly laid, 

Wrong not the memory of the dead \ 

For, while he lived, at Morthanvs look 

Thy very soul, Guy Denzil shook ! 

And when he tax'd thy breach of word 

To yon fair rose of Allenford, 

1 saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound, 2 
Whose back the huntsman's lash hath found. 
Xor dare to call his foreign wealth 

The spoil of piracy or stealth; 

Nor am I seer for art renovrn'd, 
Dark dreams and omens to expound. 
Yet, if my faith I must afford.' " &c.] 

i [MS. — ■'•' hath his gold, 

The gold he "won on Indian soil. ,! " 

2 [MS. " like rated hound."] 



102 rokeby. Canto TIL 

He won it bravely with his brand, 

When Spain waged warfare with our land. 1 

Mark, too — I brook no idle jeer, 

Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 

Mine is but half the demon's lot, 

For I believe, but tremble not, — 

Enough of this Say, why this hoard 

Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ; 
Or think'st that Mortham would bestow 
His treasure with his faction's foe ?" 

XXI. 

Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed mirth ; 2 

Rather he would have seen the earth 

Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 

Than venture to awake to flame 

The deadly wrath of Risingham. 

Submiss he answer'd, — " Mortham's mind, 

Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined. 

In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 

A lusty reveller was he ; 

But since return'd from over sea, 

A sullen and a silent mood 

Hath numb'd the current of his blood. 



1 There was a short war with Spain in 1625-6, which will be 
found to agree pretty well with the chronology of the poem. But 
probably Bertram held an opinion very common among the mari- 
time heroes of the age, that " there was no peace beyond the Line." 
The Spanish guar da-costasvi ere constantly employed in aggressions 
upon the trade and settlements of the English and French ; and, 
by their own severities, gave room for the system of bucaniering, 
at first adopted in self-defence and retaliation, and afterwards per- 
severed in from habit and thirst of plunder. 

2 [MS. " Denzil's mood of mirth ; 

He would have rather seen the earth," &c-l 



Canto III, ROKEBV, 103 

Hence he refused each kindly call 

To Rokeby's hospitable hall, 

And our stout knight, at dawn of morn 

Who loved to hear the bugle-horn, 

Xor less, when eve his oaks embrowrfd, 

To see the ruddy cup go round. 

Took umbrage that a friend so near 

Refused to share his chase and cheer ; 

Thus did the kindred barons jar, 

Ere they divided in the war. 

Yet. trust me, friend. Matilda fair 

Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." — 

XXII. 
M Destined to her ! to yon slight maid ! 
The prize my life had wellnigh paid, 
When "gainst Laroche. by Cayo's wave 
I fought, my patron's wealth to save ! — l 
Denzil. I knew him long, but ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier, 
Whom youthful friends and early fame 
Call'd soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man, he sought our crew. 
Desperate and dark, whom no one knew : 
And rose, as men with us must rise, 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he roved, 
As danger for itself he loved : 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
111 was the omen if he smiled. 
For 'twas in peril stern and wild : 

1 [The MS. has not this couplet,] 



104 rokeby. Canto III, 

But when he laugh'd, each luckless mate 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 1 
Foremost he fought in every broil, 
Then scornful turn'd him from the spoil ; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and humanity. 

XXIII. 

- I loved him well — His fearless part, 

His gallant leading, won my heart. 

And after each victorious fight, 

'Twas I that wrangled for his right, 2 

Redeem'd his portion of the prey 

That greedier mates had torn away : 

In field and storm thrice saved his life, 

And once amid our comrades" strife. — 3 

Yes, I have loved thee ! Well hath proved 

My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 

Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 

Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 

Rise if thou canst !" he look'd around, 

And sternly stamp *d upon the ground — 



l [" There was a laughing devil in his sneer, 
That raised emotions both of rage and fear; 
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, 
Hope withering fied— and Mercy sigh'd farewell." 

Byp.o.n's fJTorks, vol. ix. p. 272.] 

a [MS.— « And when j ^ } bloody fight was done, 

I wrangled for the share he won."] 
3 [See Appendix, Note W.] 



Canto III. rokebv. 105 

** Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Even as this morn it met mine eye, 
And give me, if thou darest, the lie !" 
He paused — then, calm and passion-freed, 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 

XXIV. 
M Bertram, to thee I need not tell, 
What thou hast cause to wot so well, 1 
How Superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind \ 2 
But since he drove thee from his tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bower, 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway, 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved ; 
But he would gaze upon her eye, 
Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. 
He, whom no living mortal sought 
To question of his secret thought, 
Now every thought and care confess'd 
To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 
In earth, in ocean, or in air, 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound him unto life -, 3 
But then awoke the civil strife, 
And menials bore, by his commands, 
Three coffers, with their iron bands, 

1 [MS. — " To thee, my friend, I need not tell, 

What thou hast cause to know so well. '] 

2 [MS. — " Around thy captain's moody mind."] 

3 [MS.— " But it must be Matilda's share. 

This, too, still bound him unto life."] 



105 rokeby. Canto III, 

From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep, 
To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride 1 
His gift, if he in battle died." — 

XXV. 

" Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, 
These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here, 2 
Where many a peril waits him near, 
For all his feats of war and peace, 
For plunder M boors, and harts of grease ? 5 
Since through the hamlets as he fared, 
What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, 
Or where the chase that hath not rung 4 
With DenziPs bow, at midnight strung ?" — 
" T hold my wont — my rangers go, 
Even now to track a milk-white doe. 5 
By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbours fair, 
And when my huntsman marks her way, 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 
Were Rokeby 's daughter in our power, 
We rate her ransom at her dower.". — 

1 [MS. — " From a strong vault in Mortham tower, 

In secret to Matilda's bower, 
Ponderous with ore and gems of pride."] 

2 [MS. — " Then may I guess thou hast some train, 

These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, why should Denzil hover here."] 

3 Deer in season. 

* [MS. i: that doth not know 

The midnight clang of Denzil's bow. 

— I hold my sport," &c ] 
6 [See Appendix, Note X.] i 



Canto III. rokeby. 107 

XXVI. 
'* *Tis well ! — there's vengeance in the thought, 
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 
And hot-brain'd Redmond, too, 'tis said, 
Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
Bertram she scorn'd — If met by chance, 
She turn'd from me her shuddering glance, 
Like a nice dame, that will not brook 
On what she hates and loathes to look : 
She told to Mortham she could ne'er 
Behold me without secret fear, 
Foreboding evil : — She may rue 
To find her prophecy fall true ! — 
The war has weeded Rokeby *s train, 
Few followers in his halls remain ■, 
If thy scheme miss. then, brief and bold. 
We are enow to storm the hold ; 
Bear off the plunder, and the dame, 
And leave the castle all in flame." — 

XXVII. 
M Still art thou Valour's venturous son ! 
Yet ponder first the risk to run : 
The menials of the castle, true, 
And stubborn to their charge, though few • l 
The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 

The wicket-grate — the inner fosse'' 

M Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 
On what fair guerdon can we seize ? 2 
Our hardiest venture, to explore 
Some wretched peasant's fenceless door, 

1 |lSS.— " The menials of the castle few, 

But stubborn to their charge, and true,"] 

2 [MS.—** What prize of vantage shall we seize."] 



108 rokeby. Canto III. 

And the best prize we bear away, 

The earnings of his sordid day." — 

" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 

In sight of road more sure and fair, 

Thou wouldst not choose, in blindfold wrath, 

Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 

List then ; — for vantage or assault, 

From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 

Each pass of Rokeby-house I know : 

There is one postern, dark and low, 

That issues at a secret spot, 1 

By most neglected or forgot. 

Now, could a spial of our train 

On fair pretext admittance gain, 

That sally-port might be unbarr'd : 

Then, vain were battlement and ward ! " 

XXVIII. 

" Now speak'st thou well : — to me the same, 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
Indifferent, if like fox I wind, 2 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
But, hark ! our merry men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay. 1 ' 3 — 

gam* 

44 A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 

And press the rue for wine ! 

1 [MS. — " That issues level with the moat. "J 

2 [MS. — " I care not if a fox I wind."] 

3 [MS. " our merry men again 

Are frolicking in blithesome strain."] 



Canto III. rokebv. 109 

A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 1 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

No more of me you knew, 

My love ! 
No more of me you knew. 

" This morn is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow, 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turn'd his charger as he spake, 

Upon the river shore, 2 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — 3 

XXIX. 

" What youth is this, your band among, 
The best for minstrelsy and song ? 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
" Edmond of Winston is his name ; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
Now center'd all in Brignall cave ! 

1 watch him well — his wayward course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 

i [MS.— " A laughing eye, a dauntless mien."] 

2 CMS.-" Upon tne{ Sc G -* s a h }shore.»] 
s [See Appendix, Note Y.] 



110 ROKEBY. Canto III. 

Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, 1 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest, 
By fits, the darling and the jest, 
His harp, his story, and his lay, 
Oft aid the idle hours away : 2 
When unemploy'd, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now — again 
He wakes them, with a blither strain/' 

XXX. 

ALLEN-A-DALE. 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth 3 prances in pride, 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale. 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale ! 

Scathed) 



[MS . {'SS'}*>-n 



2 [MS. — " Oft helps the weary night away."] 

3 The ruins of Ravensworth Castle stand in the North Riding of 
Yorkshire, about three miles from the town of Richmond, and ad- 
joining to the waste called the Forest of Arkingarth. It belonged 
originally to the powerful family of Fitz-Hugh, from whom it passed 
to the Lords Dacre of the South, 



Canto III. ROKEBT. Ill 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright : 

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 

Yet twenty tall yeomen 1 will draw at his word ; 

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, 

Who at Rere-cross 2 on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to Ids wooing is come ; 

The mother, she ask'd of his household and home : 

• ; Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, 

My hall," quoth bold Allen, 4i shows gallanter still : 

'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale. 

And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale. 

The lather was steel, and the mother was stone : 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone : 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laugh 'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, 
And she fled to the forest to hear a love- tale. 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI. 

M Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay. 

Love mingles ever in his lay. 

But when his boyish wayward fit 

Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 

O ! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 

Each dialect, each various shape." — 

- Xay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 

Soft ! who comes here ?" — " My trusty spy. 

Speak, Hamlin ! hast thou lodged our deer ?"' — 3 

bi I have — but two fair stags are near. 

i [MS.—" But a score of good fellows," &c] 

- See Appendix. Note Z. 
3 See Appendix ; Note 2 A. 



112 rokeby. Canto III, 

I watch'd her, as she slowly stray 'd 
From Eglistone up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side, 
And then young Redmond, in his pride, 
Shot down to meet them on their way : 
Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net, 
Before their path be homeward set." 
A hurried and a whispered speech 
Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; 
Who, turning to the robber band, 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 



[ 113 | 



R O K E B Y. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



I. 

When Denmark's raven soar'd on high, 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky, 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke, 1 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blacken'd each cataract and spring, 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force ; 2 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name, 3 
Rear'd high their altars' rugged stone. 
And gave their Gods the land they won. 

i [See Appendix, Note 2 B.] 

2 The Tees rises about the skirts of Crossfell, and falls over the 
cataracts named in the text before it leaves the mountains which 
divide the North-Riding from Cumberland. High-Force is seven- 
ty-five feet in height. 

9 [See Appendix. Note 2 C] 

H 



114 ROKEiJY. Canto IV. 

Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 
And "Woden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain ; 
But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
That held in fight the foremost place, 
To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse, 
Near Stratforth high they paid their vows, 
Remember'd Thors victorious fame, 
And gave the dell the Thunderer's name. 

II. 

Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I ween, 
Who gave that soft and quiet scene, 
With all its varied light and shade, 
And every little sunny glade, 
And the blithe brook that strolls along 
Its pebbled bed with summer song, 
To the grim God of blood and scar, 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
O, better were its banks assign'd 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups recede, 
And the rath primrose decks the mead, 1 
The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown, 
Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh, 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly ; 



[MS. — " The early primrose decks the mead, 
And the short velvet grass seems meet 
For the light fairies' frolic feet."] 



Canto IV, rokebv. 115 

And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencilPd flower 
Should canopy TitaiuVs bower. 

III. 

Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
But, skirting every sunny glade, 
In fair variety of green 
The woodland lends its silvan screen. 
Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak, 
Its boughs by weight of ages broke *, 
And towers erect, in sable spire, 
The pine-tree scathed by lightning-fire ; 
The drooping ash and birch, between. 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
And all beneath, at random grow 
Each coppice dwarf of varied show. 
Or, round the stems profusely twined, 
Fling summer odours on the wind. 
Such varied group Urbino's hand 
Round Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd, 
What time he bade proud Athens own 
On Mars's Mount the God Unknown ! 
Then grey Philosophy stood nigh, 
Though bent by age, in spirit high : 
There rose the scar-seam'd veteran's spear, 
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear, 
While Childhood at her foot was placed 
Or clung delighted to her waist. 

IV. 

* ; And rest we here," Matilda said, 
And sate her in the varying shade. 



116 rokeby. Canto IV. 

Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 
To friendship due from fortune's power. 
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest, 
No farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 
For to my care a charge is left, 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft, 
Wellnigh an orphan, and alone, 
Captive her sire, her house o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced, 
Beside her on the turf she placed ; 
Then paused, with downcast look and eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigh. 
Her conscious diffidence he saw, 
Drew backward as in modest awe, 
And sat a little space removed, 
Unmark'd to gaze on her he loved. 

V. 

Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 

Half hid Matilda's forehead fair, 

Half hid and half reveal'd to view 

Her full dark eye of haze] hue. 

The rose, with faint and feeble streak, 

So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 

That you had said her hue was pale -, 1 

But if she faced the summer gale, 

Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved, 

Or heard the praise of those she loved, 



I [MS. — " That you had said her cheek was pale ; 
But if she faced the morning gale, 
Or longer spoke, or quicker moved."] 



Ca?ito I V. ROKEBY. 1 1 7 

Or when of interest was express'd 1 

Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 

The mantling blood in ready play 

Rivaird the blush of rising day. 

There was a soft and pensive grace, 

A cast of thought upon her face, 

That suited well the forehead high, 

The eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 

The mild expression spoke a mind 

In duty firm, composed, resigivd ; — 

'Tis that which Roman art has given, 

To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven. 

In hours of sport, that mood gave way 2 

To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 

And when the dance, or tale, or song, 

In harmless mirth sped time along, 

Full oft her doting sire would call 

His Maud the merriest of them all. 

But days of war, and civil crime. 

Allow'd but ill such festal time, 

And her soft pensiveness of brow- 

Had deepen'd into sadness now. 

In Marston field her father ta'en, 

Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain, 

While every ill her soul foretold, 

From Oswald's thirst of power and gold, 

1 [MS. — " Or aught of interest was express'd 

That waked a feeling in her "breast, 

The mantling blood, { ^ e "f *"»- 

2 [MS. — "In fitting hours the mood gave vray 

To Fancy's light and frolic play, 
"When the blithe dance, or tale, or song, 
In harmless mirth sped time along, 
When oft her doting sire would call 
His Maudlin merriest of them all."] 



118 rokeby. Canto I V. 

And boding thoughts that she must part 
With a soft vision of her heart, — l 
All lower'd around the lovely maid, 
To darken her dejection's shade. 

VI. 

Who has not heard — while Erin yet 

Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 

Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 

In English blood imbrued his steel, 2 

Against St. George's cross blazed high 

The banners of his Tanistry, 

To fiery Essex gave the foil, 

And reign'd a prince on Ulster's soil ? 

But chief arose his victor pride, 

When that brave Marshal fought and died, 3 

And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 

His billows red with Saxon gore. 

'Twas first in that disastrous fight, 

Rokeby and Mortham proved their might. 4 

There had they fallen among the rest, 

But pity touch 'd a chieftain's breast ; 

The Tanist he to great O'Neale ; 5 

He check 'd his followers' bloody zeal, 

i [MS.— "■ With a soft vision of her heart, 

That stole its seat, ere yet she knew 
The guard to early passion due."] 

2 [See Appendix, Note 2D.] 

3 [See Appendix, Note 2 E.] 

4 [MS. — " And by the deep-resounding More, 

The English veterans heap'd the Shore, 
It was in that disastrous fight 
That Rokeby proved his youthful •) . „ 
Rokeby and Mortham proved their / mi S ht - 

5 [MS.—" A kinsman near to great O'Neale." 
See Appendix, Note 2 F.] 



Canto IV. rokeby. 119 

To quarter took the kinsman bold, 
And bore them to his mountain-hold, 
Gave them each silvan joy to know, 
Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could show, 1 
Shared with them Erin's festal cheer, 
Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer, 
And, when a fitting time was come, 
Safe and unransom'd sent them home, 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love. 

VII. 
Years speed away. On Rokeby'a head 

Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoy 'd, by Greta's wave. 
The peace which James the Peaceful gave, 
While Mortham, far beyond the main, 

Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain 

It chanced upon a wintry night, 2 
That whiten'd Stanmore's stormy height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd, 
In Rokeby hall the cups were filTd, 
And by the huge stone chimney sate 
The Knight in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
When a loud summons shook the gate. 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 
The porter answer'd to the call, 
And instant rush'd into the hall 

1 [MS. — " Gave them each varied joy to know 

The woods of Ophalie could show."] 

2 [MS.- ■ . " a stormy night, 

When early snow clad Stanmore's height."] 



120 Rokeby. Canto IV. 

A Man, whose aspect and attire l 
Startled the circle by the fire. 

VIII. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 2 

Around his bare and matted head ; 

On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim, 

His vesture show'd the sinewy limb ; 

In saffron dyed, a linen vest 

Was frequent folded round his breast ; 

A mantle long and loose he wore, 

Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore, 

He clasp'd a burden to his heart, 

And, resting on a knotted dart, 

The snow from hair and beard he shook, 

And round him gazed with wilder'd look. 

Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 

He hasten'd by the blaze to place, 

Half lifeless from the bitter air, 

His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 

To Rokeby, next, he louted low, 

Then stood erect his tale to show, 3 



1 [MS. — " And instant into Rokeby-hall 

A stranger rush'd, whose wild attire 
Startled," &c] 

2 [See Appendix, Note 2G.] 

3 [MS. — " Shaggy with snow, and stain'd with gore. 

His features as his dress were wild, 
And in his arms he bore a child. 
With staggering and unequal pace, 
He hasten'd by the blaze to place, 
Half lifeless from the bitter air, 
His load, a Boy of beauty rare. 
To Rokeby then, with solemn air, 
He turn'd his errand to declare."} 



Canto IV. rokebv. 1-1 

With wild majestic port and tone, 1 
Like envoy of some barbarous throne. 2 
h - Sir Richard, Lord of Rokebv, hear ! 
Turlough CTXeale salutes thee dear ; 
He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Redmond gives, his grandson fair. 
He bids thee breed him as thy son, 
For Turlough's days of joy are done ; 
And other lords have seized his land, 
And faint and feeble is his hand ; 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapour flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul, 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 5 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham first this charge was due. 

But, in his absence, honours you 

Now is my master's message by, 
And Ferraught will contented die." 

IX. 

His look grew flx'd, his cheek grew pale, 
He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid — in terror wild, 
And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child. 
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes, 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 

1 [This couplet is not in the MS.l 

2 [See Appendix, Note 2 H.l 

3 [MS. — " To hind the charge upon thy soul, 

Remember Erin's social "bowl ! " _i 



122 rokeby. Canto IV. 

All reckless of his dying pain, 
He blest, and blest him o'er again ! 
And kiss'd the little hands outspread, 
And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head, 
And, in his native tongue and phrase, 
Pray'd to each saint to watch his days *, 
Then all his strength together drew, 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
When half was falter'd from his breast, 
And half by dying signs express'd, 
" Bless thee, O'Neale ! " he faintly said, 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 

X. 

'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the Child to end the tale : 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had been forced to roam, 
"Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Had but had strength to draw the brand, 
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 

That hung beside the grey wolf's head 

'Twas from his broken phrase descried, 
His foster-father was his guide, 1 
Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met them in the wood, 
Fen-aught in battle boldly stood, 
Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length, 
And stripp'd of all, his failing strength 
Just bore him here — and then the child 
Renew'd again his moaning wild. 2 

i [MS.— See Appendix, Note 2 I.] 

2 [Here follows in the MS. a stanza of sixteen lines, which the 
author subsequently dispersed through stanzas xv. and xvi., post.] 



Canto IV. rokeby. 123 

XI. 

The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, 

Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 

When next the summer breeze comes by, 

And waves the bush, the flower is dry. 

Won by their care, the orphan Child 

Soon on his new protector smiled, 

With dimpled cheek and eye so fair, 

Through his thick curls of flaxen hair, 

But blithest laugh'd that cheek and eye, 

When Rokeby 's little Maid was nigh ; 

'Twas his, with elder brother's pride, 

Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; x 

His native lays in Irish tongue, 

To soothe her infant ear he sung, 

And primrose twined with daisy fair, 

To form a chaplet for her hair. 

By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand, 

The Children still were hand and hand, 

And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 

The early knot so kindly tied. 

XII. 

But summer months bring wilding shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom to fruit ; 
And years draw on our human span, 
From child to boy, from boy to man ; 
And soon in Rokeby 's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to wake the felon boar, 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 



i [MS.— " Three years more old, 'twas Redmond's pride 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide."] 



124 rokebV. Canto IV. 

And loves, against the deer so dun, 

To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 

Yet more he loves, in autumn prime, 

The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 

And down its clustered stores to hail, 

Where young Matilda holds her veil. 

And she, whose veil receives the shower, 1 

Is alter'd too, and knows her power ; 

Assumes a monitress's pride, 

Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide ; 

Yet listens still to hear him tell 

How the grim wild-boar 2 fought and fell, 

How at his fall the bugle rung, 

Till rock and greenwood answer flung ; 

Then blesses her, that man can find 

A pastime of such savage kind ! 3 

XIII. 

But Redmond knew to weave his tale 

So well with praise of wood and dale, 

And knew so well each point to trace, 

Gives living interest to the chase, 

And knew so well o'er all to throw 

His spirit's wild romantic glow, 

That, while she blamed, and while she fear'd, 

She loved each venturous tale she heard. 

Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 

To bower and hall their steps restrain, 

Together they explor'd the page 

Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 

Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 

The minstrel art alternate tried, 

i [MS.—" And she on whom these treasures shower."] 

2 [MS.—" Grim Sanglier."] 

2 [MS.—" Then bless'd himself that man can find 
A pastime of such cruel kind."] 



Canto IT. ROKEBY. 125 

^'hilo gladsome harp and lively lay 

Bade winter-night flit fast away : 

Thus from their childhood blending still 

Their sport, their study, and their skill, 

An union of the soul they prove, 

But must not think that it was love. 

But though they dared not, envious Fame 

Soon dared to give that union name ; 

And when so often, side by side, 

From year to year the pair she eyed, 

She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 

As dull of ear and dim of sight, 

Sometime his purpose would declare, 

That young O'Neal e should wed his heir. 

XIV. 
The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes ; x 
'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 
Had Rokeby's favour wellnigh won. 
Now must they meet with change of cheer, 
With mutual looks of shame and fear ; 
Now must Matilda stray apart, 
To school her disobedient heart : 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokeby sware, 2 
No rebel's son should wed his heir ; 
And Redmond, nurtured while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild, 

1 [MS.—" From their hearts and eyes."] 

2 [MS. — " And Redmond, too, apart must rue, 

The love he never can subdue ; 

Then came the v^ar, and Rokeby said, 

No rebel's son should wed his maid."] 



126 rokeby. Canto IV. 

Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
To cherish there a happier dream, 
Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
As in the regions of romance ; 
And count the heroes of his line, 1 
Great Xial of the Pledges Nine, 2 
Shane-Dymas 3 wild, and Geraldine, 4 
And Connan-more, who vow'd his race 
For ever to the fight and chase, 
And cursed him, of his lineage born, 
Should sheathe the sword to reap the corn, 
Or leave the mountain and the wold, 
To shroud himself in castled hold. 
From such examples hope he drew, 
And brighten'd as the trumpet blew. 

XV. 

If brides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond had both his cause to aid, 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O'Neale, in Erin's strife, 
On Rokeby's Lord bestowYl his life, 
And well did Rokeby's generous Knight 
Young Redmond for the deed requite. 

i [MS.— " Thought on the { f £^? rs } of bis line, 

Great Nial of the Pledges Nine, 
Shane-Dymas wild, and Connan-Mar, 
Who vow'd his race to wounds and war, 
And cursed all of his lineage horn, 
Who sheathed the sword to reap the corn, 
Or left the green- wood and the wold, 
To shroud himself in house or hold."] 

2 [See Appendix, Note 2 K.] 

3 [See Appendix, Note 2 L.] 

4 [See Appendix, Note 2 M.] 



Canto IV. rokeby. 127 

Xor was his liberal care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
Seek the Xorth Riding broad and wide, 
Like Redmond none could steed bestride ! 
From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
Like Redmond none could wield a brand : 
And then, of humour kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy, 
There never youth was form'd to steal 
L^pon the heart like brave O'Xeale. 

XVI. 

Sir Richard loved him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were done, 
And to the gales of war he gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguished by his care, 
He chose that honoured flag to bear, 1 
And named his page, the next degree 
In that old time to chivalry. 2 
In five pitch'd fields he well maintain "d 
The honoured place his worth obtain'd, 
And high was Redmond's youthful name 
Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 



1 Lacy informs us in the old play already quoted, how the cavalry 
raised by the country gentlemen for Charles's service "were usually 
officered. '-'You. comet, have a name that's proper for all cornets 
to be called by, for they are all beardless boys in our army. The 
most part of our horse were raised thus : — The honest country gen- 
tleman raises the troop at his own charge ; then he gets a Low- 
country lieutenant to fight his troop safely ; then he sends for his 
son from school to be his cornet ; and then he puts off his child's 
coat to put on a buff-coat : and this is the constitution of our army. 1 ' 

i [See Appendix. $Jote 2 N.] 



128 rokeby. Canto IV. 

Had fortune smiled on Marston fight, 
The eve had seen him dubb'd a knight ; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife, 
Of Rokeby 's Lord he saved the life, 
But when he saw him prisoner made, 
He kiss'd and then resign'd his blade, 1 
And yielded him an easy prey 
To those who led the Knight away ; 
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 
In prison, as in fight, his love. 

XVII. 

When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'Tis like a sun-glimpse through a shower, 
A watery ray, an instant seen 
The darkly closing clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf reclined, 
The past and present fill'd his mind : 2 
" It was not thus," Affection said, 
" I dream'd of my return, dear maid ! 
Not thus, when from thy trembling hand, 
I took the banner and the brand, 
When round me, as the bugles blew, 
Their blades three hundred w r arriors drew, 
And, while the standard I unroll'd, 
Clash 'd their bright arms, with clamour bold. 
Where is that banner now ? — -its pride 
Lies 'whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide ! 



1 [MS. — " His valour saved old Rokeby's life, 
But when he saAv him prisoner made, 
He kiss'd and then flung down his blade."] 
2 [After this line the MS. has :— 

" His ruin'd hopes, impending woes — 
Till in his eye the tear-drop rose."] 



Canto TV. rokeby. 129 

Where now these warriors ? — in their gore, 
They cumber Marston's dismal moor ! 
And what avails a useless brand, 
Held by a captive's shackled hand, 
That only would his life retain, 
To aid thy sire to bear his chain !" 
Thus Redmond to himself apart ; 
Nor lighter was his rival's heart ; 
For Wilfrid, while his generous soul 
Dlsdain'd to profit by control, 
By many a sign could mark too plain, 
Save with such aid, his hopes were vain. — . 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul, 
And bade their mournful musing fly, 
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 

XVIII. 
" I need not to my friends recall, 
How Mortham shunn'd my father's hall ; 
A man of silence and of woe, 
Yet ever anxious to bestow 
On my poor self whatever could prove 
A kinsman's confidence and love. 
My feeble aid could sometimes chase 
The clouds of sorrow for a space : 
But oftener, fix'd beyond my power, 1 
I mark'd his deep despondence lower. 
One dismal cause, by all unguess'd, 
His fearful confidence confessed ; 

1 [MS.—" But oftener 'twas my hap to see 
Such storms of bitter agony, 
As for the moment would o'erstrain 
And wreck the balance of the brain."] 
I 



130 rokeby. Canto IV. 

And twice it was my hap to see 
Examples of that agony, 
Which for a season can o'erstrain 
And wreck the structure of the brain. 
He had the awful power to know 
The approaching mental overthrow, 
And while his mind had courage yet 
To struggle with the dreadful fit, 
The victim writhed against its throes, 1 
Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 
This malady, I well could mark, 
Sprung from some direful cause and dark ; 
But still he kept its source conceal'd, 
Till arming for the civil field ; 
Then in my charge he bade me hold 
A treasure huge of gems and gold. 
With this disjointed dismal scroll, 
That tells the secret of his soul. 
In such wild words as oft betray 
A mind by anguish forced astray." 

XIX. 

mortham's history. 
" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start, 
As if a dagger thriird my heart, 
When it has happ'd some casual phrase 
Waked memory of my former days. 
Believe, that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure on the past ; 
But I ! — my youth was rash and vain, 2 
And blood and rage my manhood stain, 



i [MS. " beneath his throes."] 

2 [MS.—" My youth was folly's reign."] 



lanto IV, kokeby. 131 

And my grey hairs must now descend 

To my cold grave without a friend ! 

Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 

Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 

And must I lift the bloody veil, 

That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 

I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease ! 

Leave me one little hour in peace ! 

Thus haunted,' think'st thou I have skill 

Thine own commission to fulfil ? 

Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce. 

Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse. 

How can I paint thee as thou wert. 

So fair in face, so warm in heart ! — 

XX. 
" Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
But hers was like the sunny glow, 
That laughs on earth and all below ! 
We wedded secret — there was need — 
Differing in country and in creed • 
And when to Mortham's tower she came, 
We mentioned not her race and name, 
Until thy sire, who fought afar, 1 
Should turn him home from foreign war, 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we lived retired, unknown, 
To all but one dear friend alone. 
One darling friend — I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 

i [MS.—" Until thy father, then afar."] 



132 rokeby. Canto IV. 

My trespasses I might forget, 1 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Ungrateful to God's clemency, 2 
That spared me penitential time, 
Nor cut me off amid my crime 

XXI. 

" A kindly smile to all she lent, 

But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 

So kind, that from its harmless glee, 3 

The wretch misconstrued villany. 

Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 

A 'vengeful snare the traitor wove. 

Alone we sat — the flask had flow'd, 

My blood with heat unwonted glow'd, 

When through the alley'd walk we spied 

With hurried step my Edith glide, 

Cowering beneath the verdant screen, 

As one unwilling to be seen. 

Words cannot paint the fiendish smile, 

That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while ! 

Fiercely I question'd of the cause ; 

He made a cold and artful pause, 

Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood — 

6 There was a gallant in the wood !" — 

We had been shooting at the deer; 

My cross-bow (evil chance !) was near : 

That ready weapon of my wrath 

1 caught, and, hasting up the path, 4 

3 [MS.— "I, a poor debtor, should forget."] 

2 [MS. — " Forgetting God's own clemency."] 

3 [MS. — " So kindly, that from harmless glee."] 

4 [MS. — " I caught a cross-bow that was near, 

The readiest weapon of my wrath, 
And hastening up the Greta path." 



IV. ROKEBV. J33 

In the yew grove my wife I found. 
A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 
I mark'd his heart — the bow I drew — 
I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true ! 
I found my Edith's dying charms 
Lock"d in her murder *d brother's arms ! 
He came in secret to enquire 
Her state, and reconcile her sire. 1 

XXII. 

" All fled my rage — the villain first. 
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed : 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to none : 
Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
I know not what — of shaft mis-aim 'd : 
And even from those the act who knew, 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 
Untouched by human laws I stood, 
But God had heard the cry of blood ! 
There is a blank upon my mind, 
A fearful vision ill-defined, 
Of raving till my flesh was torn. 
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — 
And when I waked to woe more mild, 
And questional of my infant child — 
(Have I not written, that she bare 
A boy, like summer morning fair ?) — 
With looks confused my menials tell 
That armed men in Mortham dell 

i [This couplet is not in the MS."] 



134 rokeby. Canto IV. 

Beset the nurse's evening way, 

And bore her, with her charge, away. 

My faithless friend, and none but he, 

Could profit by this villany ; 

Him then, I sought, with purpose dread 

Of treble vengeance on his head ! 

He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound 

Some faint relief from wandering found ; 

And over distant land and sea 

Ibore my load of misery. 

XXIII. 

" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps led 

Among a daring crew and dread, 1 

With whom full oft my hated life 

I ventured in such desperate strife, 

That even my fierce associates saw 

My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 

Much then I learn'd, and much can show. 

Of human guilt and human woe, 

Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known 

A wretch, whose sorrows match'd my own ! — 

It chanced, that after battle fray, 

Upon the bloody field we lay ; 

The yellow moon her lustre shed 

Upon the wounded and the dead, 

While, sense in toil and wassail drown'd, 

My ruffian comrades slept around, 

There came a voice — its silver tone 

Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 

4 Ah, wretch !' it said, ' what makest thou here, 

While unavenged my bloody bier, 

i [MS.—-" 'Twas then that fate my footsteps threw 
Among a wild and daring crew."] 



Canto IV. rokeby. 135 

While unprotected lives mine heir, 
Without a father's name and care ?' 

XXIV. 

" I heard — obey'd — and homeward drew ; 

The fiercest of our desperate crew 

I brought at time of need to aid 

My purposed vengeance, long delay'd. 

But, humble be my thanks to Heaven, 

That better hopes and thoughts has given, 

And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught, 

Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 

Let me in misery rejoice — 

I've seen his face — I've heard his voice — 

I claim'd of him my only child — 

As he disown *'d the theft, he smiled ! 

That very calm and callous look, 

That fiendish sneer his visage took, 

As when he said, in scornful mood, 

4 There is a gallant in the wood !' — . 

I did not slay him as he stood— 

All praise be to my Maker given ! 

Long suffrance is one path to heaven." 

XXV. 

Thus far the woeful tale was heard, 
When something in the thicket stirr'd. 
Up Redmond sprung \ the villain Guy, 
(For he it was that lurk'd so nigh,) 
Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
A moment's space with brave O'Xeale, 
For all the treasured gold that rests 
In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 



136 rokeby. Canto IV. 

Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said, 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laugh 'd grimly, when he saw 
His timorous comrade backward draw ; 
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me thy carabine — I'll show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know, 
How thou mayst safely quell a foe/ 1 

XXVI. 

On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 

The spreading birch and hazels through, 

Till he had Redmond full in view ; 

The gun he levelTd — Mark like this 

Was Bertram never known to miss, 

When fair opposed to aim there sate 

An object of his mortal hate. 

That day young Redmond's death had seen, 

But twice Matilda came between 

The carabine and Redmond's breast, 

Just ere the spring his finger press'd. 

A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 

But yet his fell design forbore : 

" It ne'er," he mutter'd, " shall be said, 

That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid !" 

Then moved to seek more open aim, 

When to his side Guy Denzil came : 

" Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 

For ever, if thou fire the gun. 

By all the fiend3, an armed force 

Descends the dell, of foot and horse ! 



Canto IV. ROKEBY. 137 

We perish if they hear a shot — 
Madman ! we have a safer plot — 
Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back • 
Behold, down yonder hollow track, 
The warlike leader of the band 
Comes, with his broadsword in his hand/'' 
Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 
That Denzil's fears had counsell'd true, 
Then cursed his fortune and withdrew, 
Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 

XXVII. 

They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 

Doom'd to captivity or death, 

Their thoughts to one sad subject lent, 

Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 

Heedless and unconcenvd they sate, 

While on the very verge of fate ; 

Heedless and unconcenvd remain'd, 

When Heaven the murderer's arm restrained ; 

As ships drift darkling down the tide, 

Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 

Uninterrupted thus they heard 

What Mortham's closing tale declared. 

He spoke of wealth as of a load, 

By Fortune on a wretch bestow'd, 

In bitter mockery of hate, 

His cureless woes to aggravate ; 

But yet he pray'd Matilda's care 

Might save that treasure for his heir — 

His Edith's son — for still he raved 

As confident his life was saved ; 

In frequent vision, he averr'd, 

I-Je saw his face, his voice he heard. 



133 rokeby. Canto IV. 

Then argued calm — had murd:r been, 

The blood, the corpses, had been seen ; 

Some had pretended too, to mark 

On Windermere a stranger bark, 

Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild, 

Guarded a female and a child. 

While these faint proofs he told and pressed, 

Hope seem'd to kindle in his breast ; 

Though inconsistent, vague, and vain 

It warp'd his judgment, and his brain, 1 

XXVIII. 

These solemn words his story close : — 
u Heaven witness for me, that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight, 
Moved by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law ; — 
These righted, I fling arms aside, 
And seek my son through Europe wide, 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
Already casts a grasping eye, 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears, 
Let her retain her trust three years ; 
If none, from me, the treasure claim, 
Perish 'd is Mortham's race and name a 
Then let it leave her generous hand, 
And flow in bounty o'er the land ; 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot, 
Rebuild the peasant's ruined cot ; 



[MS. — "Hope, inconsistent, vague, and vain, 

Seem'd on the theme to warp his brain."! 






Canto IV. rokeby. 139 

So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic war." 

XXIX. 

The generous youths, who well had known 

Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone, 

To that high mind, by sorrow swerved, 

Gave sympathy his woes deserved -, 1 

But Wilfrid chief, who saw reveal'd 

Why Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd, 

In secret, doubtless, to pursue 

The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew. 

Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell, 

That she would share her father's cell. 

His partner of captivity, 

Where'er his prison house should be ; 

Yet grieved to think that Rokeby-hall, 

Dismantled, and forsook by all, 

Open to rapine and to stealth, 

Had now no safe-guard for the wealth 

Intrusted by her kinsman kind, 

And for such noble use design'd. 

44 Was Barnard Castle then her choice," 

Wilfrid enquired with hasty voice, 

44 Since there the victor's laws ordain. 

Her father must a space remain ?" 

A flutter'd hope his accents shook, 

A flutter 'd joy was in his look. 

Matilda hasten'd to reply, 

For anger fiash'd in Redmond's eye ; — 

44 Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 

44 Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 

i [MS. — " To that high mind thus waxp'd and swerved,. 
The pity gave his woes deserved. "] 



140 rokeby. Canto IV, 

Else had I for my sire assign'd 
Prison less galling to his mind, 
Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees, 
And hears the murmur of the Tees, 
Recalling thus, with every glance, 
What captive's sorrow can enhance ; 
But where those woes are highest, there 
Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care.' 1 

XXX. 

He felt the kindly check she gave, 

And stood abash'd — then answer'd grave : — 

" I sought thy purpose, noble maid, 

Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 

I have beneath mine own command, 

So wills my sire, a gallant band, 

And well could send some horseman wight 

To bear the treasure forth by night, 

And so bestow it as you deem 

In these ill days may safest seem." — 

" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks, 1 '' she said : 

" O, be it not one day delay'd ! 

And, more thy sister-friend to aid, 

Be thou thyself content to hold, 

In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 

Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke, 

Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke, 

The same of whose approach afraid, 

The ruffians left their ambuscade. 

Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 

Then look'd around as for a foe. 

" What mean'st thou, friend, 1 ' young Wycliffe said, 

w Why thus in arms beset the glade ?" — 



Canto IV. ROKJEBY. 141 

" That would I gladly learn from you • 
For up my squadron as I drew. 
To exercise our martial game 
Upon the moor of Baminghame, 1 
A stranger told you were waylaid, 
Surrounded, and to death betray\L 
He had a leader's voice. I ween, 
A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 
He bade me bring you instant aid ; 
I doubted not, and I obey'd."' 

XXXI. 
Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed, 
Turn'd short, and on the speaker gazed ; 
While Redmond every thicket round 
Track'd earnest as a questing hounds 
And DenziTs carabine he found ; 
Sure evidence, by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 2 
Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed 
To leave the dell. It was agreed, 
That Redmond, with Matilda fair. 
And fitting guard, should home repair f 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend, 
With a strong band, his sister-friend, 



1 [MS. — "' In martial exercise to move 

Upon the open moor above."] 

2 [MS.— "And they the gun of Denzil find; 

A witness sure to every mind 

The warning "was as true as kind."! 

2 £MS. " It was agreed, 

That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 
Should straight to Rokeby Hall repair, 
And, foes so near them, known so late. 
A guard should tend her to the gate/"'! 



142 rokeby. Canto IV. 

To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers, 
Secret and safe the banded chests, 
In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty purpose fix'd, they part, 
Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 



[ 143 ] 



R O K E B Y. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



I. 

The sultry summer day is done, 
The western hills have hid the sun, 
But mountain peak and "village spire 
Retain reflection of his fire. 
Old Barnard's towers are purple still, 
To those that gaze from Toller-hill \ 
Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 
Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, 
Rich with the spoils of parting day, 
In crimson and in gold array 'd, 
Streaks yet a while the closing shade, 
Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 
The tints which brighter hours had given. 
Thus aged men, full loth and slow, 
The vanities of life forego, 
And count their youthful follies o'er, 
Till Memory lends her light no more. 



144 rokeby. Canto V, 

II. 

The eve, that slow on upland fades, 
Has darker closed on Rokeby 's glades, 
Where sunk within their banks profound, 
Her guardian streams to meeting wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
Of noontide made a twilight brown, 
Impervious now to fainter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 1 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers of the roosting crows, 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the Genii of the stream ; 
For louder clamour "d. Greta's tide, 
And Tees in deeper voice replied, 
And fitful waked the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd. 2 
Wilfrid, whose fancy- nurtured soul 
Felt in the scene a soft control, 
With lighter footstep pressed the ground, 
And often paused to look around ; 
And though his path was to his love, 
Could not but linger in the grove, 
To drink the thrilling interest dear, 
Of awful pleasure check'd by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we, 
Even when our passions strike the key. 

III. 

Now, through the wood's dark mazes past, 
The opening lawn he reach'd at last, 

i [MS. " a daTksome night."] 

2 [MS. — " By fits awaked the evening wind, 
By fits in sighs its breath resign'd."~) 



Canto r. ROKEBY. 

Where, silver *d by the moonlight ray, 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 1 
Those martial terrors long were fled, 
That frown 'd of old around its head : 
The battlements, the turrets grey, 
Seem'd half abandoned to decay \ 2 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stern Time the foeman's work had done. 
Where banners the invader braved, 
The harebell now and wallflower waved ; 
In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze, 
On the paved floor the spindle plays \ z 
The flanking guns dismounted lie, 
The moat is ruinous and dry, 4 
The grim portcullis gone — and all 
The fortress turn'd to peaceful Hall. 

IV. 

But yet precautions, lately ta'en, 5 

Show'd danger's day revived again ; 

1 [MS. — " Old Rokeby's toners before him lay."] 
2 The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of 
the present mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. It 
is surrounded by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in which 
it stands is adorned by the junction of the Greta and of the Tees. 
The title of Baron Rokeby of Armagh was, in 1777; conferred on 
the Eight Reverend Richard Robinson. Primate of Ireland, de- 
scended of the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, in Yorkshire. 

3 [MS. — " The weary night the warders wore, 

Now by the fagot's gladsome light, 

The maidens plied the spindle's sleight.''] 

4 [MS.—" The beams had long forgot to bear 

The trembling drawbridge into air ; 
The huge portcullis gone," &c] 
"- [MS.—" But yet precaution show'd, and fear, 
That dread of evil times was here ; 
K 



145 rokeby. Canto V. 

The court-) r ard wall show'd marks of care, 

The falPn defences to repair, 

Lending such strength as might withstand 

The insult of marauding band. 

The beams once more were taught to bear 

The trembling drawbridge into air, 

And not, till question'd o'er and o'er, 

For Wilfrid oped the jealous door, 

And when he entered, bolt and bar 

Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 

Then, as he cross'd the vaulted porch, 

The old grey porter raised his torch, 

And view'd him o'er, from foot to head, 

Ere to the hall his steps he led. 

That huge old hall, of knightly state, 

Dismantled seem'd and desolate. 

The moon through transom-shafts of stone, 

Which cross'd the latticed oriels, shone, 

And b) r the mournful light she gave, 

The Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave. 

Pennon and banner waved no more 

O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar, 

Nor glimmering arms were marshall'd seen, 

To glance those silvan spoils between. 

Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 

Accomplish 'd Rokeby's brave array, 

But all were lost on Marston's day ! 

There were late marks of jealous \ care 
For there were recent marks of ) 
The fali'n defences to repair ; 
And not, till question'd o'er and o'er, 

For Wilfrid oped the i studded \ door, 
I jealous ) 

And, on his entry, bolt and bar 

Resumed their place with sullen jar."] 



Canto V. rokeby. 147 

Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 
"Where armour yet adorns the wall, 
Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 
And useless in the modern fight ! 
Like veteran relic of the wars, 
Known only by neglected scars. 

V. 

Matilda soon to greet him came, 

And bade them light the evening flame ; 

Said, all for parting was prepared, 

And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 

But then, reluctant to unfold * 

His father's avarice of gold, 

He hinted, that lest jealous eye 

Should on their precious burden pry, 

He judged it best the castle gate 

To enter when the night wore late ; 

And therefore he had left command 

With those he trusted of his band, 

That they should be at Rokeby met, 

What time the midnight-watch was set. 

Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 

Till then was busied to prepare 

All needful, meetly to arrange 

The mansion for its mournful change. 

With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased, 

His cold unready hand he seized, 

And press'd it, till his kindly strain 

The gentle youth return 'd again. 



i [MS.-" Confus'dhe stood, as loth to say 

What might his sire's base mood display, 
Then hinted, lest some curious eye."] 



148 rokeby. Canto Y. 

SeemM as between them this was said, 
" A while let jealousy be dead ; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 

VI. 

There was no speech the truce to bind 

It was a compact of the mind, 

A generous thought, at once impress'd 

On either rival's generous breast. 

Matilda well the secret took, 

From sudden change of mien and look ; 

And — for not small had been her fear 

Of jealous ire and danger near — 

Felt, even in her dejected state, 

A joy beyond the reach of fate. 

They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 

And talk'd, and hoped for happier days, 

And lent their spirits' rising glow 

A while to gild impending woe ; — 

High privilege of youthful time, 

Worth all the pleasures of our prime ! 

The bickering fagot sparkled bright, 

And gave the scene of love to sight, 

Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 

Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow, 

Her nut-brown curls and forehead high, 

And laugh 'd in Redmond's azure eye. 

Two lovers by the maiden sate, 

Without a glance of jealous hate ; 

The maid her lovers sat between, 

With open brow and equal mien ; — a 

It is a sight but rarely spied, 

Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 



Q V. ROKEBY. 149 

VII. 

While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarm'd the outer gate. 
And ere the tardy porter stirrd. 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell 
Bore burden to the music well. 

41 Summer eve is gone and past. 
Summer dew is falling fast : 
I have wanderM all the day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 
Gentle hearts, of gentle kin, 
Take the wandering harper in !" 

But the stern porter answer gave. 

With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave ! 

The king wants soldiers ; war. I trow, 

Were meeter trade for such as thou.' , 

At this unkind reproof, again 

Answer \i the ready Minstrel's strain. 

g>0ng resumed 

' : Bid not me. in battle-field, 
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield ! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart, 1 
With the wizard notes that ling 
From the peaceful minstrel-string."— 



— " 0. bid not me bear svrord and shield. 
Or struggle to the bloody field, 
For gentler art this hand was made."] 



150 rokeby. Canto V, 

The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 
Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide ; 
If longer by the gate thou dwell, 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well." 

VIII. 

With somewhat of appealing look, 

The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 

" These notes so wild and ready thrill, 

They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 

Hard were his task to seek a home 

More distant, since the night is come ; 

And for his faith I dare engage — 

Your Harpool's blood is sour'd by age ; 

His gate, once readily display 'd, 

To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 

Now even to me, though known of old, 

Did but reluctantly unfold." — 

" O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime. 

An evil of this evil time. 

He deems dependent on his care 

The safety of his patron's heir, 

Nor judges meet to ope the tower 

To guest unknown at parting hour, 1 

Urging his duty to excess 

Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 

For this poor harper, I would fain 

He may relax : — Hark to his strain !" — 

IX. 

44 I have song of war for knight, 
Lay of love for ]ady bright, 
i [MS.— " To vagrants at our parting hour."! 



Canto V. ROKKB-t. 151 

Fairy tale to lull the heir, 
Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
Dark the night, and long till day, 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 

" Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name \ l 
Legends of their line there be, 
Known to few, but known to me ; 
If you honour Rokeby's kin. 
Take the wandering harper in ! 

M Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for the bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well, 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin, 
Take the weary harper in V — 

" Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope,' 
Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope." — . 
— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow, 
Nought know'st thou of the Felon Sow," 2 
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a feast. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
That well could strike with sword amain, 
And of the valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph ; 
There were a jest to make us laugh ! 

1 [See Appendix, Note 2 0.] 

2 [See Appendix j Note 2 P.] 



152 rokeby. Canto V. 

If thou canst tell it in yon shade 
Thou'st won the supper and thy bed." 

X. 

Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope," said she, 

" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 

But, for this harper, may we dare, 

Redmond, to mend his couch and fare ?" — 

— " O, ask not me ! — At minstrel-string 

My heart from infancy would spring ; 

Nor can I hear its simplest strain, 

But it brings Erin's dream again, 

When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 

(The Filea of O'Neale was he, 1 

A blind and bearded man, whose eld 

Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 

I've seen a ring of rugged kerne, 

With aspect shaggy, wild and stern, 

Enchanted by the master's lay, 

Linger around the livelong day, 

Shift from wild rage to w T ilder glee, 

To love, to grief, to ecstasy, 2 

And feel each varied change of soul 

Obedient to the bard's control. — 

Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 

Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more -, 3 

Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze, 

Tell maiden's love, or hero's praise ! 

The mantling brambles hide thy hearth, 

Centre of hospitable mirth •, 

All undistinguished in the glade, 

My sires' glad home is prostrate laid;, 

1 [See Appendix, Note 2 Q.] 

2 [MS. " to sympathy."] 

s [See Appendix, Note 2 ft.j 



Canto V. rokebv. 153 

Their vassals wander wide and far, 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy !" 
He spoke, and proudly turn'd aside, 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 

XT. 

Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 

"Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 

Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 

" It is the will of heaven," she said. 

" And think'st thou, Redmond, 1 can part 

From this loved home with lightsome heart, 

Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 

Even from my infancy was dear ? 

For in this calm domestic bound 

Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 

That hearth, my sire was wont to grace, 

Full soon may be a stranger's place \ 1 

This hall, in which a child I play'd, 

Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid. 

The bramble and the thorn may braid ;, 

Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine, 

It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 

Yet is this consolation given, 

My Redmond, — 'tis the Anil of heaven." 

Her word, her action, and her phrase, 

Were kindly as in early days ; 

For cold reserve had lost its power, 

In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 

Young Redmond dared not trust his voice ; 

But rather had it been his choice 

1 [MS. — " That hearth, my father's honour'd place, 
Full soon may see a stranger's face."] 



154 rokeby. Canto V. 

To share that melancholy hour, 
Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's power, 1 
In full possession to enjoy 
Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 

XII. 

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek ; 

Matilda sees, and hastes to speak 

" Happy in friendship's ready aid, 
Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 
And Rokeby 's Maiden will not part 
From Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 
This night at least, for Rokeby's fame, 
The hospitable hearth shall flame, 
And, ere its native heir retire, 
Find for the wanderer rest and fire, 
While this poor harper, by the blaze, 2 
Recounts the tale of other days, 
Bid Harpool ope the door with speed, 

Admit him, and relieve each need 

Meantime, kind WyclifFe, wilt thou try 
Thy minstrel skill ? — Nay, no reply — 3 
And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought, 
Thy verse with laurels would be bought ; 
And poor Matilda, landless now, 
Has not a garland for thy brow. 
True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades, 
Nor wander more in Greta shades •, 
But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 
Wilt a short prison-walk allow, 

l [MS. — " Tanist's power."] 

-' [MS.—" Find for the needy room and fire, 

And this poor wanderer, by the blaze."] 
3 [MS. " what think'st thou 

Of yonder harp ?— Nay, clear thy brow.""l 



V. ROKEBY. 155 

Where summer flowers grow wild at will, 
On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill : l 
Then holly green and lily gay 
Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." 2 
The mournful youth, a space aside, 
To tune Matilda's harp applied : 
And then a low sad descant rung, 
As prelude to the lay he sung. 

XIII. 

0, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnish"d holly *s all too bright, 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree ! 

Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine , 
The manly oak. the pensive yew, 
To patriot and to sage be due •, 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 

1 Marwood-chase is the old park extending along the Durham 
side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill is an 
eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding a superb 
•view of the ruins. 

2 [MS.— " "Where rose and lily I will twine 
In guerdon of a song of thine."] 



156' rokeby. Canto V. 

Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew ; 
On favour'd Erin's crest be seen 
The flower she loves of emerald green — 
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 
And, while his crown of laurel-leave3 
With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
But when you hear the passing bell, 
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, 
And twine it of the cypress-tree. 

Yes ! twine for me the cypress bough ; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
Stay till a few brief months are past, 
And I have look'd and loved my last ! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With panzies, rosemary, and rue, — 
Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree. 

XIV. 

O'Neal e observed the starting tear, 

And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer — 

" No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 

When mourns the land thy silent lay, 

Shall many a wreath be freely wove 

By hand of friendship and of love. 



J V. ROKEBY. J57 

I would not wish that rigid Fate 
Had doom'd thee to a captive's state. 
Whose hands are bound by honour's law, 

Who wears a sword he must not draw ; 
But were it so. in minstrel pride 
The land together would we ride. 
On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 
Bound for the halls of barons bold, 1 
Each lover of the lyre we'd seek, 
From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak, 
Survey wild Alton's mountain strand. 
And roam green Erin's lovely land, 
While thou the gentler souls should move, 
With lay of pity and of love, 
And I, thy mate, in rougher strain. 
Vv'ould sing of war and warriors slain. 
Old England's bards ^vere vanquished then, 
And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden. 2 
And, silenced on Iernian shore. 
3PCurtin's harp should charm no more !" 5 
In lively mood he spoke, to vile 
From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile, 

XV. 

i; But," said Matilda, rf ere thy name, 
Good Redmond, gain its destined fame. 

: [MS.— 1 * I would not vrisli thee j m \ degree 

So lost to hope as falls to me : 

But { ™* thou «*** ) in minstrel pride 
I if thou wert i l 

The land we'd traverse side by side. 

On prancing steeds, like minstrels old. 

Bound for the f ^ rf ^^ « 

Tnat sought the I 

2 Drummond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of his reputa- 
tion as a poet during the Civil Wars. He died in 1649. 

3 £See Appendix,. Note 2 S.] 



158 ROKEBY. Canto V. 

Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 

Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ? 

Bid all the household, too, attend, 

Each in his rank a humble friend ; 

I know their faithful hearts will grieve, 

When their poor Mistress takes her leave \ 

So let the horn and beaker flow 

To mitigate their parting woe." 

The harper came ; — in youth's first prime 

Himself ; in mode of olden time 

His garb "was fashion 'd, to express 

The ancient English minstrel's dress, 1 

A seemly gown of Kendal green, 

With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 

His harp in silken scarf was slung, 

And by his side an anlace hung. 

It seem'd some masquer's quaint array. 

For revel or for holiday. 

XVI. 

He made obeisance w r ith a free 
Yet studied air of courtesy. 
Each look and accent, framed to please, 
Seem'd to aifect a playful ease ; 
His face was of that doubtful kind, 
That wins the eye, but not the mind ; 
Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smooth as this. 

1 Among the entertainments presented to Elizabeth at Kenil- 
w orth Castle, was the introduction of a person designed to repre- 
sent a travelling minstrel, who entertained her with a solemn story 
out of the Acts of King Arthur. Of this person's dress and ap- 
pearance Mr. Laneham has given us a very accurate account, 
transferred by Bishop Percy to the preliminary Dissertation on 
Minstrels, prefixed to his Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i. 



Canto V. rokebv. 159 

His was the subtle look and sly, 
That, spying all, seems nought to spy ; 
Round all the group his glances stole, 
Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole. 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, 
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 1 
To the suspicious, or the old, 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seem'd this self-invited guest ; 
But young our lovers, — and the rest, 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
At parting of their Mistress dear, 
Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall, 2 
Came as to bear her funeral pall. 

XVII. 

All that expression base was gone, 
When waked the guest his minstrel tone ; 
It fled at inspiration's call, 
As erst the demon fled fiom Saul. 3 
More noble glance he cast around, 
More free-drawn breath inspired the sound, 
His pulse beat bolder and more high, 
In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 



i [MS.—" Nor could keen Redmond's aspect brook."] 
2 [MS.— " Came blindfold to the Castle-hall, 
As if to bear her funeral pall."] 
3 [" But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an evil 
spirit from the Lord troubled him. 

" And Saul said unto his servants, Provide me now a man that 
can play well, and bring him to me. And it came to pass, when 
the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, 
and played with his band : So Saul was refreshed, and was well, 
and the evil spirit departed from him." — 1 Samuel, chap. xvi. 
14, 17.- 23.] 



160 rokeby. Canto V. 

Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 

Sunk with the lay that bade it soar ! 

His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 

Its vices wild and follies vain, 

And gave the talent, with him born, 

To be a common curse and scorn. 

Such was the youth whom Rokeby 's Maid, 

With condescending kindness, pray'd 

Here to renew the strain she loved, 

At distance heard and well approved. 

XVIII. 

THE HARP. 

I was a wild and wayward boy, 

My childhood scom'd each childish toy ; 

Retired from all, reserved and coy, 

To musing prone, 
I woo'd my solitary joy, 

My Harp alone. 

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, 
Despised the humble stream and wood, 
Where my poor father's cottage stood, 

To fame unknown \ — 
What should my soaring views make good ? 

My Harp alone ! 

Love came with all his frantic fire, 
And mid romance of vain desire : x 
The baron's daughter heard my lyre, 

i [MS.—" Love came, with all his ardent fire, 
His frantic dream, his wild desire."] 



Canto V. ROKEBY. 

And praised the tone ; — 
What could presumptuous hope inspire ? 
My Harp alone ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble burst, 
And manhood's pride the vision curst. 
And all that had my folly nursed 

Love's sway to own ; 
Yet spared the spell that lull'd me first. 

My Harp alone ! 

Woe came with war, and want with woe ; 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 1 

Can aught atone 
My fields laid waste, my cot laid low ? 

My Harp alone ! 

Ambition's dreams I've seen depart, 
Have rued of penury the smart, 
Have felt of love the venom'd dart, 

When hope was flown ; 
Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 
My Harp alone ! 

Then over mountain, moor, and hill, 
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still ; 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is wellnigh gone, 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill, 

My Harp alone ! 



[MS.— " And doom'd at once to undergo. 
Each varied outrage of the foe."] 



162 rokeby. Canto V. 

XIX. 

" A pleasing lay I" Matilda said ; 
But Harpool shook his old grey head, 
And took his haton and his torch, 
• To seek his guard-room in the porch. 
Edmund observed — with sudden change, 
Among the strings his fingers range, 
Until they waked a bolder glee 
Of military melody ; 
Then paused amid the martial sound, 
And look'd with well-feigned fear around ; — l 
" None to this noble house belong," 
He said, " that would a Minstrel wrong, 
Whose fate has been, through good and ill, 
To love his Royal Master still •, 
And, with your honour'd leave, would fain 
Rejoice you with a loyal strain.'" 
Then, as assured by sign and look, 
The warlike tone again he took ; 
And Harpool stopp'd, and turn , d to hear 
A ditty of the Cavalier. 

XX. 

THE CAVALIER. 

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey, 
My true love has mounted his steed and away, 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down ; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown ! 

He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to. bear, 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing hair, 

i [MS.—" And looking timidly around."] 



V. ROKEBY. 103 

From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down, — 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown ! 

For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws. 
Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ; 
His watchword is honour, his pay is renown, — 
God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown ! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, their "Waller, and all 
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town, 
That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. 1 

There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes; 
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose ! 
Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and 

Brown, 
With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown ! 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 
Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear, 
Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown. 
In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown. 2 

XXL 

" Alas !" Matilda said, " that strain. 
Good harper, now is heard in vain ! 
The time has been, at such a sound, 

1 [MS. " of proud London town, 

That the Xorth has brave nobles to fight for the Crown."' 

2 [In the MS. the last quatrain of this song is. 

" If they boast that fair Reading by treachery fell, 

Of Stratton and Lansdoune the Cornish can tell. 

And the North tell of Bramham and Adderton Down. 

Where God bless'd the brave gallants who fought for the Crown."] 



164 rokeby. Canto V. 

When Rokeby 's vassals gather'd round, 
An hundred manly hearts would bound ; 
But now, the stirring verse we hear, 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear ! 1 
Listless and sad the notes we own, 
The power to answer them is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause 
Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
Even when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
"While Rokeby's Heir such power retains, 
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : — 
And, lend thy harp •, I fain would try, 
If my poor skill can aught supply, 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall, 
To mourn the cause in which we fall." 

XXII. 

The harper, with a downcast look, 

And trembling hand, her bounty took 

As yet, the conscious pride of art 
Had steel'd him in his treacherous part ; 
A powerful spring, of force unguess'd, 
That hath each gentler mood suppressed, 
And reign'd in many a human breast •, 
From his that plans the red campaign, 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
The failing wing, the blood-shot eye,— 2 
The sportman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drown'd in his own successful skill, 
i [MS. — " But now it sinks upon the ear, 

Like dirge beside a hero's bier. "J 
1 [MS. — " Marking, -with sportive cruelty, 

The failing wing, the blood-shot eye."] 



Canto V. rokebv. 165 

The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle's roar, 1 
Loves still the triumph of his art, 
And traces on the pencill'd chart 
Some stem invader's destined way, 
Through blood and ruin to his pre)' ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame 
He dooms, to raise another's name, 
And shares the guilt, though not the fame. 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditated crime ? 
What against pity arms his heart ? — 
It is the conscious pride of art. 

XXIII. 

But principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder lost, 
On Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour ; 
And, O ! when Passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's share ! 
Yet now she roused her — for the pride. 
That lack of sterner guilt supplied, 
Could scarce support him when arose 
The lay that moum'd Matilda's woes. 

THE FAREWELL. 

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear. 
They mingle with the song : 

- [MS. — " The veteran chief whose broken age, 
No more can lead the battle's rage."] 



166 rokeby. Canto V m 

Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 

I must not hear them long. 
From every loved and native haunt 

The native Heir must stray, 
And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt, 

Must part before the day. 

Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd, 

Their scutcheons may descend, 
A line so long beloved and fear'd 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid these echoes swell ; 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell. 

The Lady paused, and then again 
Resumed the lay in loftier strain. 1 

XXIV. 

Let our halls and towers decay, 

Be our name and line forgot, 
Lands and manors pass away, — 

We but share our Monarch's lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Battles won and banners taken, 
Still in death, defeat, and woe, 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

Constant still in danger's hour, 

Princes own'd our fathers' aid ; 
Lands and honours, wealth and power, 2 

Well their loyalty repaid. 

i [This couplet is not in the MS.] 
2 [MS.—" Knightly titles, wealth and power."] 



• r. ROKEBY. 167 

Perish wealth, and power, and pride ! 

Mortal boons by mortals given 5 
But let Constancy abide, 

Constancy "s the gift of Heaven. 

XXV. 
While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 

A thousand thought* in Edmund stirr'd. 

In peasant life he might have known 

As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 

But village notes could ne'er supply 

That rich and varied melody ; 

And ne'er in cottage-maid was seer: 

The easy dignity of mien. 

Claiming respect, yet waving state, 

That marks the daughters of the great 

Yet not, perchance, had these alone 

His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown ; 

But while her energy of mind 

Superior rose to griefs combined, 

Lending its kindling to her eye. 

Giving her form new majesty, — . 

To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd 

The very object he had dream 'd ; 

When, long ere guilt his soul had. known. 

In Winston bowers he mused alone, 

Taxing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air, the voice divine. 

Of princess fair, by cruel fate 

Reft of her honours, power, and state, 1 

Till to her rightful realm restored 

By destined hero's conquering sword. 

: [MS. — " Of some fair princess of romance. 
The guerdon of a hero's lance."] 



168 rokeby. Canto V. 

XXVI. 

" Such was my vision ! " Edmund thought ; 

" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 

Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 

In fairest vision form'd her peer ? 

Was it my hand that could unclose 

The postern to her ruthless foes ? 

Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith, 

Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 

Have I done this ? I ! who have swore. 

That if the globe such angel bore, 

I would have traced its circle broad, 

To kiss the ground on which she trode !— - 

And now — O ! would that earth would rive. 

And close upon me while alive ! — 

Is there no hope ? Is all then lost ? — 

Bertram 's already on his post ! 

Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door, 

I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 

He was to wait my signal strain — 

A little respite thus we gain : 

By what I heard the menials say, 

Young WycliftVs troop are on their way — . 

Alarm precipitates the crime ! 

My harp must wear away the time. ,, — 

And then, in accents faint and low, 

He falter M forth a tale of woe. 1 

XXVII. 
23aIIatf, 

^ And whither would you Jead me, then ?*' 
Quoth the Friar of orders grey ; 

i [The MS, has not this couplet.] 



Canto V. ROKEBY. 1(J9 

And the Ruffians twain replied again, 
M By a dying woman to pray." — 

" I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright, 

With an infant on her arm." — 

" Then do thine office, Friar grey, 

And see thou shrive her free I 1 
Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night ? 

Fling all its guilt on thee, 

" Let mass be said, and trentals read, 

When thou'rt to convent gone, 
And bid the bell of St. Benedict 

Toll out its deepest tone," 

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 

Blindfolded as he came — - 
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hail 

Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man, 

The village crones can tell ; 
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray. 

If he hears the convent bell, 

If prince or peer cross Darrell 's way. 
He'll beard him in his pride— 



i [MS. — '•' And sae thy shrift he true. 

Else shall the soul, that parts to-day. 
Fling all its guilt on you.'" 



170 rokeby. Canio V, 

If he meet a Friar of orders grey, 
He droops and turns aside. 1 

XXVIIL 

" Harper ! methinks thy magic lays," 

Matilda said, " can goblins raise ! 

Wellnigh my fancy can discern, 

Near the dark porch, a visage stern ; 

E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 

I see it !— Redmond, Wilfrid, look !— 

A human form distinct and clear — 

God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near !" 

She saw too true. Stride after stride, 

The centre of that chamber wide 

Fierce Bertram gain'd ; then made a stand, 

And, proudly waving with his hand, 

Thunder'd — " Be still, upon your lives ! — 

He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives. 1 ' 

Behind their chief, the robber crew 

Forth from the darken'd portal drew, 

In silence — save that echo dread 

Retum'd their heavy measured tread. 2 

The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ; 

File after file in order pass, 

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 

Then, halting at their leader's sign, 

At once they form'd and curved their line, 



i [See Appendix, Note 2 T, — [to which the author in his inter- 
leaved copy has made considerable additions. — Ed.] 
2 [MS. — " Behind him came his savage crew, 
File after file in order due ; 
Silent from that dark portal pass, 
Like forms on Banquo's magic glass.""] 



Canto V. rokeby. 171 

Hemming within its crescent drear 
Their victims, like a herd of deer. 
Another sign, and to the aim 
Leveird at once their muskets came, 
As waiting but their chieftain's word, 
To make their fatal volley heard. 

XXIX. 

Back in a heap the menials drew ; 

Yet, even in mortal terror, true, 

Their pale and startled group oppose 

Between Matilda and the foes. 

" O, haste thee, Wilfrid !" Redmond cried ; 

" Undo that wicket by thy side ! 

Bear hence Matilda 1 — gain the wood — - 

The pass may be a while made good — 

Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh— 

O speak not — dally not — but fly !" 

While yet the crowd their motions hide, 

Through the low wicket door they glide. 

Through vaulted passages they wind, 

In Gothic intricacy twined ; 

Wilfrid half led, and half he bore, 

Matilda to the postern-door, 

And safe beneath the forest tree, 

The Lady stands at liberty. 

The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 

Renew'd suspended consciousness ; — 

" Where's Redmond ?" eagerly she cries : 

Thou answer'st not — he dies ! he dies ! 

And thou hast left him, all bereft 

Of mortal aid — with murderers left ! 

i [MS.— "Conduct Matilda," &c] 



172 rokeby. Canto V. 

I know it well — he would not yield 
His sword to man — his doom is seaPd ! 
For my scorn'd life, which thou hast bought 
At price of his, I thank thee not." 

XXX. 

The unjust reproach, the angry look, 

The heart of Wilfrid could not brook, 

" Lady," he said, " my band so near, 

In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 

For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn, 

If mine can buy his safe return. " 

He turn'd away — his heart throbb'd high, 

The tear was bursting from his eye ; 

The sense of her injustice press'd 

Upon the Maid's distracted breast, — 

" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain ! " 

He heard, but turn'd him not again ; 

He reaches now the postern-door, 

Now enters— and is seen no more. 

XXXI. 

With all the agony that e'er 

Was gender'd 'twixt suspense and fear, 

She watch 'd the line of windows tall, 1 

Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall, 

Distinguish 'd by the paly red 

The lamps in dim reflection shed, 2 

1 [MS. — " Matilda, shrouded by the trees, 

The line of lofty windows sees."] 

2 [MS. — " The dying lamps reflection shed, 

While all around the moon's wan light. 
On tower and casement glimmer'd white, 
No sights bode harm, no sounds bode ill, 
It is as calm as midnight still."] 



Ca n fo V. ro kebV. J 7 3 

While all beside in wan moonlight 

Each grated casement glimmer 'd white. 

No sight of harm, no sound of ill, 

It is a deep and midnight still. 

Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 

All in the Castle were at rest : 

When sudden on the windows shone 

A lightning flash, just seen and gone ! l 

A shot is heard — Again the flame 

Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came 

Then echo'd wildly, from within, 

Of shout and scream the mingled din, 

And weapon-clash and maddening cry, 

Of those who kill, and those who die ! — 

As filled the Hall with sulphurous smoke, 

More red, more dark, the death-flash broke ; 

And forms were on the lattice cast, 

That struck or struggled, as they past. 

XXXII. 

I What sounds upon the midnight wind 
Approach so rapidly behind ? 
It is, it is the tramp of steeds, 
Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 
Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
" O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 
Fly to the postern— gain the Hall !" 
From saddle spring the troopers all \ 2 
Their gallant steeds, at liberty, 
Run wild along the moonlight lea, 



i [MS.— " A brief short flash," &c] 

2 [MS. — " ' Haste to postern— gain the Hall !' 

Sprung from their steeds the troopers all.' 



174 rokeby. Canto V. 

But, ere they burst upon the scene, 
Full stubborn had the conflict been. 
When Bertram marked Matilda's flight, 
It gave the signal for the fight ; 
And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars, 
Their momentary panic o'er, 
Stood to the arms which then they bore ; 
(For they were weapon'd, and prepared 1 
Their Mistress on his way to guard.) 
Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale, 
Then peal'd the shot, and clash 'd the steel ; 
The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
Darken'd the scene of blood and death, 
While on the few defenders close 
The Bandits, with redoubled blows, 
And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 2 

XXXIII. 

Wilfrid has fall'n — but o'er him stood 

Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and blood, 

Cheering his mates with heart and hand 

Still to make good their desperate stand. 

" Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby halls 

Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 

What ! faint ye for their savage cry, 

Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 

These rafters have return'd a shout 

As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout, 

i [MS. — " For as it hap'd they were prepared/'] 
2 [In place of this couplet, the MS. reads, — 
" And as the hall the troopers gain, 
Their aid had wellnigh been in vain."] 



175 



As thick a smoke these hearths have given 
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even. 1 
Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, 
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 
These slaves ! they dare not, hand to hand, 
Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 
Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 
Woe to the wretch at w T hom is bent 
His brandish 'd falchion's sheer descent ! 
Backward they scatter 'd as he came, 
Like wolves before the levin flame, 2 
When, mid their howling conclave driven, 
Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven. 
Bertram rush'd on — but Harpool clasped, 5 
His knees, although in death he gasp'd, 
His falling corpse before him flung, 
And round the trammeird ruffian clung. 
Just then, the soldiers filled the dome, 
And, shouting, charged the felons home 
So fiercely, that in panic dread, 
They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled, 4 
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 
Though heard above the battle's roar ; 
While, trampling down the dying man, 
He strove, with volley 'd threat and ban. 



1 [See Appendix, Note 2 U."j 

2 [MS. — " Like wolves at lightning's midnight flame."] 

3 [MS. — " Bertram had faced him ; while he gasp'd 

In death, his knees old Harpool clasp'd, 
His dying corpse before him flung." 

4 [MS.— " So fiercely charged them, that they "bled, 

Disbanded, yielded, fell, or fled."] 



176 rokeby. Canto V, 

In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
To rally up the desperate fight. 1 

XXXIV. 

Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold, 
Than e'er from battle-thunders roll'd ! 
So dense, the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and blindfold grows the fight — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! 
Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
The hollow sound of rushing flame ; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise — the Castle i3 on fire ! 2 
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand, 
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. 
Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
Yon tower, which late so clear defined 
On the fair hemisphere reclined, 
That, pencill'd on its azure pure, 
The eye could count each embrazure, 
Now, swath'd within the sweeping cloud, 
Seems giant- spectre in his shroud ; 
Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright, 
And, gathering to united glare, 
Streams high into the midnight air ; 



i [MS. — " To rally them against their fate, 
And fought himself as desperate."] 

2 [MS. — " Chance-kindled mid the tumult dire. 
The western tower is all on fire. 
Matilda saw," &c."j 



U) V. KOKBBT. 177 

A dismal beacon, far and wide 
That waken'd Greta's slumbering side. 1 
Soon all beneath, through gallery long, 
And pendant arch, the foe flash'd strong, 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend, its furious reign ; 
Startling, with closer cause of dread. 
The females who the conflict fled, 
And now rush'd forth upon the plain, 
Filling the air with clamours vain. 

XXXV. 

But ceased not vet, the Hall within, 
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din, 

Till bursting lattices give proof 2 

The flames have caught the rafter 'd roof, 

What ! wait they till its beams amain 

Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 

The alarm is caught — the drawbridge fall?. 

The warriors hurry from the walls, 

But, by the conflagration's light, 

Upon the lawn renew the fight. 

Each straggling felon down was hew'd, 

Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 

But forth the affrighted harper sprung. 

And to Matilda's robe he clung. 

Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 

Stopp'd the pursuer's lifted hand. 3 

Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 

The rest, save Bertram, all are slain, 

1 [The MS. has not this couplet.] 

2 [MS. — •'•' The glowing lattices give proof. H ] 

3 [MS. — " Her shrieks, entreaties, and commands, 

Avail'd to stop pursuing "brands."] 
M 



17 § ROKEBY. Canto V. 

XXXVI. 

And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high, 1 
The general flame ascends the sky ; 
In gather'd group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
When, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element, 
To plague and to pollute the air,— 
His face all gore, on fire his hair, 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandish'd sword on high he rears, 
Then plunged among opposing spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle truss'd, 
Received and foil'd three lances' thrust \ l 
Nor these his headlong course withstood, 3 
Like reeds he snapp'd the tough ash-wood. 
In vain his foes around him clung ; 
With matchless force aside he flung 
Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay, 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his way, 
Through forty foes his path he made, 
And safely gain'd the forest glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
When from the postern Redmond bore 
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 
Had in the fatal Hall been left. 4 

1 [MS. — " Where's Bertram now? In fury driven, 

The general flame ascends to heaven ; 
The gather'd groups of soldiers gaze 
Upon the red and roaring blaze."] 

2 [The MS. wants this couplet.] 

?> [MS. — " In vain the opposing spears withstood." 
< [MS. — " Had in the smouldering hall been left."'] 



Canto V. rokeby. 1 / 9 

Deserted there by all his train ; 

But Redmond saw, and turn'd again 

Beneath an oak he laid him down, 
That in the blaze gleanvd ruddy brown, 
And then his mantle's clasp undid \ 
Matilda held his drooping head, 
Till, given to breathe the freer air, 
Returning life repaid their care. 
He gazed on them with heavy sigh, — 
" I could have wislrd even thus to die !" 
No more he said — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regain'd his steed ; 
The ready palfreys stood array 'd, 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain, 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda look'd behind, 
As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires, 
In gloomy arch above them spread. 
The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red 
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
Appear'd to roll in waves of blood. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall, 
Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
A space the conflagration drown'd ; 
Till, gathering strength, again it rose, 
Announced its triumph in its close, 
Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, 
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more ! 



t 181 1 



ROKEBY. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



I. 

The summer sun, whose early power 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower, 
And rouse her with his matin ray 1 
Her duteous orisons to pay, 
That morning sun has three times seen 
The flowers unfold on Kokeby greeja, 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak, 
But, rising from their silvan screen, 
Marks no grey turrets' glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 
That, hissing to the morning shower, 
Can but with smouldering vapour pay 
The early smile of summer day. 

i [MS. "glancing ray."] 



132 rokeby. Canto VI. 

The peasant, to his labour bound, 
Pauses to view the blacken'd mound, 
Striving, amid the ruin'd space, 
Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 
That length of frail and fire-scorch'd wall 
Once screen'd the hospitable hall ; 
When yonder broken arch was whole, 
'Twas there was dealt the weekly dole ; 
And where yon tottering columns nod, 
The chapel sent the hymn to God. — 
So flits the world's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man, 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 
The towers must share the builder's doom ; 
Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heaven 
To Faith and Charity has given, 
And bids the Christian hope sublime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 1 

II. 

Now the third night of summer came, 
Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flame. 
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 
The owlet's homilies awake, 



1 MS.— " And bids our hopes ascend sublime 

Beyond the bounds of Fate and Time."— 

" Faith, prevailing o'er his sullen doom, 
As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom, 
Lured his dim eye to deathless hope sublime, 
Beyond the realms of nature and of time." 

Campbell.] 



nto VI, ROKEBY. 183 

The bittern scream'd from rush and flag. 

The raven slumbered on his crag, 

Forth from his den the otter drew, — 

Grayling and trout their tyrant knew, 

As between reed and sedge he peers, 

With fierce round snout and sharpen'd ears, 1 

Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool, 

Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 

Perch'd on his wonted eyrie high, 

Sleep seal'd the tercelet's wearied eye, 

That all the day had watch'd so well 

The cushat dart across the dell. 

In dubious beam reflected shone 

That lofty cliff of pale grey stone, 

Beside whose base the secret cave 

To rapine late a refuge gave. 

The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 

On Greta's breast dark shadows threw ; 

Shadows that met or shunn'd the sight, 

With every change of fitful light • 

As hope and fear alternate chase 

Our course through life's uncertain race. 

III. 

Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold, 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 
And pauses oft, and cowers dismay'd, 
At every breath that stirs the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 

* [The MS. has not this couplet J 



184 jlokeby. Canto VI. 

He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 
Ye heard the startled raven croak ; 
Lower and lower he descends, 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends ; 
The otter hears him tread the shore, 
And dives, and is beheld no more •, 
And by the cliff of pale grey stone 
The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-remember 'd form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so pale, 
Combine to tell a rueful tale, 
Of powers misused, of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
T Tis Edmund's eye, at every sound 
That flings that guilty glance around \ 
'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 
The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 1 
'Tis Edmund's form that enters there. 

IV. 

His flint and steel have sparkled bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode, 
It seem'd as none its floor had trod ; 
Untouch'd appeared the various spoil, 
The purchase of his comrades' toil ; 
Masks and disguises grimed with mud, 
Arms broken and defiled with blood, 

i [MS " sally-port lies bare."] 



VI, ROKEBY. ] 85 

And all the nameless tools that aid 

Night-felons in their lawless trade, 

Upon the gloomy walls were hung, 

Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 1 

Still on the sordid board appear 

The relics of the noontide cheer : 

Flagons and empty flasks were there, 2 

And bench overthrown, and shatter'd chair ; 

And all around the semblance show'd, 

As when the final revel glow'd, 

When the red sun was setting fast. 

And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 

" To Rokeby treasure- vaults !" they quaff'd, 

And shouted loud and wildly laugrrd, 

Pour'd maddening from the rocky door, 

And parted — to return no more ! 

They found in Rokeby vaults their doom.— 

A bloody death, a burning tomb ! 

V. 

There his own peasant dress he spies, 
DofT'd to assume that quaint disguise ; 
And shuddering thought upon his glee, 
When prank'd in garb of minstrelsy. 
M O, be the fatal art accurst," 
He cried, " that moved my folly first ; 
Till, bribed fey bandits" base applause, 
I burst through God's and Nature's laws '. 



J [MS — " Or on the floors disordered flung.' 5 ] 
5 £MS. — " Seats overthrown and flagons drain'd. 
Still on the cavern floor remain'd. 
And all the cave that semblance bore, 
Ir show'd when late the revel wore."] 



186 ROKEBY, Cailt'j VI. 

Three summer days are scantly past 
Since I have trod this cavern last, 
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to err — 
But, O, as yet no murderer ! 
Even now I list my comrades' cheer, 
That general laugh is in mine ear, 
Which raised my pulse, and steel'd my heart- 
As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 
And would that all since then could seem 
The phantom of a fever's dream I 
But fatal Memory notes too well 
The horrors of the dying yell, 
From my despairing mates that broke, 
When flash 'd the fire and roll'd the smoke \ 
"When the avengers shouting came, 
And hemm'd U3 'twixt the sword and flame ! 
My frantic flight, — the lifted brand, — 

That angel's interposing hand !. 

If, for my life from slaughter freed, 
I yet could pay some grateful meed ! 
Perchance this object of my quest 
May aid" — he turn'd, nor spoke the rest, 

VI. 

Due northward from the rugged hearth, 

With paces five he metes the earth, 

Then toil'd with mattock to explore 

The entrails of the cavern floor, 

Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground, 

His search a small steel casket found. 

Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp, 

His shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 

He started, and look'd up aghast, 

Then shriek'd ! — 'Twas Bertram held him fast, 



Canto VI. R0KE3Y. 187 

M Fear not ! " he said ; but who could hear 

That deep stem voice, and cease to fear ? 

" Fear not ! — By heaven, he shakes as much 

As partridge in the falcon's clutch :" — 

He raised him, and unloosed his hold, 

While from the opening casket roll'd 

A chain and reliquaire of gold. 1 

Bertram beheld it with surprise, 

Gazed on its fashion and device, 

Then, cheering Edmund as he could, 

Somewhat he smoothed his rugged mood : 

For still the youth's half-lifted eye 

Qurver'd with terror's agony. 

And sidelong glanced, as to explore. 

In meditated flight, the door. 

4i Sit," Bertram said, ' ; from danger free : 

Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 

Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 

I've sought for refuge-place in vain. 2 

And tell me now, thou aguish boy, 

What makest thou here ? what means this toy ? 

Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 

What lucky chance unbound your chain ? 

1 deem'd, long since on Baliol's tower, 

Your heads were warp'd with sun and shower. 3 
Tell me the whole — and, mark ! nought e'er 
Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear.*' 
Gathering his courage to his aid, 
But trembling still, the youth obey'd. 

? [MS. ; -" carcauet ofgold."] 

2 [The MS. adds : 

" No surer shelter from the foe 
Than what this cavern can bestow."'] 
s [MS. " perched in sun and shower."] 



188 rokeby. Canto VI. 

VII, 

" Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 

In fetters on the dungeon floor. 

A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 

Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought, 1 

And eyed my comrade long askance, 

With fix\l and penetrating glance. 

c Guy Denzil art thou call'd ?' — ' The same.— 

4 At Court who served wild Buckinghame ; 

Thence banish 'd, won a keeper's place, 

So Villiers will'd, in Marwood-chase ; 

That lost — I need not tell thee why — 

Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply 

Then fought for Rokeby : — Have I guess'd 

My prisoner right ?' — ' At thy behest/ — 2 

He paused a while, and then went on 

With low and confidential tone ; — 

Me, as I judge, not then he saw, 

Close nestled in my couch of straw — 

6 List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 

Have frequent need of what they hate ; 

Hence, in their favour oft we see 

Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 

Were I disposed to bid thee live, 

What pledge of faith hast thou to give ?' 

VIII. 

" The ready Fiend, who never yet 
Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit, 
Prompted his lie — e His only child 
Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron smiled, 

i [MS.—" With the third morn that baron old, 

Dark Oswald Wycliffe, sought the hold"] 

i MS.—" ' And last didst ride in Rokeby's band. 

Art thou the man?'—-' At thy command.'"] 



Canto VI. rokeby. 189 

And tunvd to me — ' Thou art his sgh V 
I bowed — our fetters were undone, 
And we were led to hoar apart 
A dreadful lesson of his art 
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 
Had fair Matilda's favour won ; 
And long since had their union been, 
But for her father's bigot spleen, 
Whose brute and blindfold party-rage 
Would, force per force, her hand engage 
To a base kern of Irish earth, 
Unknown his lineage and his birth, 
Save that a dying ruffian bore 
The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
But fair occasion he must find 
For such restraint well-meant and kind, 
The Knight being render'd to his charge 
But as a prisoner at large. 

IX. 

*' He school'd us in a well-forged tale. 
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale, 1 
To which was leagued each Cavalier 
That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear ; 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot, 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot 
Such was the charge, which DenziPs zeal 
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Xeale 



[MS. — " He school'd us then to tell a tale, 
Of plot the Castle walls to scale, 
To which had sworn each Cavalier."] 



100 rokkby. Canto VI. 

Proffer'd, as witness, to make good, 

Even though the forfeit were their blood. 

I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 

His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore ; 

And then — alas ; what needs there more ? 

I knew I should not live to say 

The proffer I refused that day ; 

Ashamed to live, yet loth to die, 

I soil'd me with their infamy !" — 

" Poor youth," said Bertram, " wavering still, 3 

Unfit alike for good or ill ! 

But what fell next ?" — " Soon as at large 2 

Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 

There never yet, on tragic stage, 

"Was seen so well a painted rage 

As Oswald's show'd! With loud alarm 

He call'd his garrison to arm ; 

From tower to tower, from post to post, 

He hurried as if all were lost ; 

Consign'd to dungeon and to chain 

The good old knight and all his train ; 

Warn'd each suspected Cavalier, 

Within his limits, to appear 

To-morrow, at the hour of noon, 

In the high church of Eglistone." — 

X. 

" Of Eglistone ! — Even now I pass'd," 
Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast ; 

[MS. ■ " sore bestad ! 

Wavering alike in good and bad."] 

2 [MS. — " " O, when at large 

Was scroll'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 
You never yet, on tragic stage, 
Beheld so well a painted rage."} 



Canto VI. rokeby. 191 

Torches and cressets gleam'd around, 

I heard the saw and hammer sound, 

And I could mark they toil'd to raise 

A scaffold, hung with sable baize, 

Which the grim headsman's scene display 'd, 

Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 

Some evil deed will there be done, 

Unless Matilda wed his son ; — . 

She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guess'd 

That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 

This is a turn of Oswald's skill : 

But I may meet, and foil him still ! l 

How earnest thou to thy freedom ?"— " There 

Lies mystery more dark and rare. 

In midst of WyclifiVs well-feign'd rage, 

A scroll was offerd by a page, 

Who told, a muffled horseman late 

Had left it at the Castle-gate. 

He broke the seal — his cheek show'd change, 

Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange : 

The mimic passion of his eye 

Was turned to actual agony • 

His hand like summer sapling shook, 

Terror and guilt were in his look. 

Denzil he judged, in time of need, 

Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 

And thus apart his counsel broke 

While with a ghastly smile he spoke :— 



[After this line the MS. reads :— 

" Although his soldiers snatch' d b.w&j, 
When in my very grasp, my prey. — 
Edmund, how cam'st thou free?"—" there 
Lies mystery," &c.l 



192 rokeby. Canto VI. 

XL 

^ ' As in the pageants of the stage, 
The dead awake in this wild age, 1 
Mortham — whom all men deem'd decreed 
In his own deadly snare to bleed, 
Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea. 
He train'd to aid in murdering me, — 
Mortham has 'scaped ! The coward shot 
The steed, but harm'd the rider not.'" 
Here, with an execration fell, 
Bertram leap'd up, and paced the cell : — 
" Thine own grey head, or bosom dark," 
He mutter'd, " may be surer mark ! " 
Then sat, and sign'd to Edmund, pale 
With terror, to resume his tale. 
" Wycliffe went on : — 'Mark with what flights 
Of wilder'd reverie he writes : — 

Wfyz ILzittv. 

" '- Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 
Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 2 
Once had he all that binds to life, 
A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 
Wealth, fame, and friendship, were his own — 
Thou gavest the word, and they are flown. 3 
Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 
He yields his honours and his land, 4 

1 [MS. — " The dead arise in this wild age, 

Mortham — whom righteous heaven decreed 
Caught in his own fell snare to bleed."] 

2 [MS.—" Though dead to all, he lives to thee."] 

s [MS. — " Wealth, fame, and happiness, his own — 
Thou gavest the word, and all is flown."] 

4 [The MS. adds :— 

" Nay more, ere one day's course had run, 
He rescued twice from death thy sou. 
Mark his demand. — Restore his child ! "] 



Canto VI. rokeby. 193 

One boon premised l — Restore his child ! 
And, from his native land exiled, 
Mortham no more returns to claim 
His lands, his honours, or his name ; 
Refuse him this, and from the slain 
Thou shalt see Mortham rise again/— 

XII. 

;i This billet while the barcn read, 
His faltering accents show'd his dread ; 
He press'd his forehead with his palm, 
Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
1 Wild as the winds, as billows wild ! 
"What wot I of his spouse or child ? 
Hither he brought a joyous dame, 
Unknown her lineage or her name : 
Her, in some frantic fit, he slew ; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
Heaven be my witness ! wist I where 
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, — 
Unguerdon'd, I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy. 
And Mortham's lands and towers resign 
To the just heirs of Mortham's line,' — 
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 
; Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
He said, i to ease his patron's heart ! 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir ; 
Thy generous wish is fully won. — 
Redmond O'Xeale is Mortham's son.'— 



194 rokeby. Canto VI. 

XIII. 

" Up starting with a frenzied look, 
His clenched hand the Baron shook : 
4 Is Hell at work ? or dost thou rave, 
Or darest thou palter with me, slave ! 
Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 
Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers/ 
Denzil, who well his safety knew, 
Firmly rejoin'd, ' I tell thee true. 
Thy racks could give thee but to know 

The proofs, which I, untortured show 

It chanced upon a winter night, 

When early snow made Stanmore white, 

That very night, when first of all 

Redmond O'Neale saw Rokeby-hall, 

It was my goodly lot to gain 

A reliquary and a chain, 

Twisted and chased of massive gold. 

— Demand not how the prize I hold ! 

It was not given, nor lent, nor sold 

Gilt tablets to the chain were hung, 

With letters in the Irish tongue. 

I hid my spoil, for there was need 

That I should leave the land with speed ; 

Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear 

On mine own person gems so rare. 

Small heed I of the tablets took, 

But since have spell'd them by the book, 

When some sojourn in Erin's land 

Of their wild speech had given command. 

But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 

And language those of other days, 

Involved of purpose, as to foil 

An interloper's prying toil. 



Canto VI. kokeby. 195 

The words, but not the sense, I knew, 
Till fortune gave the guiding clew. 

XIV. 

M ' Three days since, was that clue reveal'd, 

In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd, 1 

And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid 

Her uncle's history display 'd \ 

And now I can interpret well 

Each syllable the tablets tell. 

Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 

Of old O'Xeale of Clandehoy ; 

But from her sire and country fled, 

In secret Mortham's lord to wed. 

O'Xeale, his first resentment o'er, 

Despatch'd his son to Greta's shore, 

Enjoining he should make him known 

(Until his farther will were shown) 

To Edith, but to her alone. 

What of their ill-starr'd meeting fell, 

Lord TVycliffe knows, and none so well. 

XV. 

" 4 O'Xeale it was, who, in despair, 
Robb'd Mortham of his infant heir ; 
He bred him in their nurture wild, 
And call'd him murder'd Connal's child. 
Soon died the nurse •, the Clan believed 
What from their Chieftain they received. 
His purpose was, that ne'er again 2 
The boy should cross the Irish main \ 

1 [MS.—" It chanced, three days since, I was laid 

Conceal' d in Thorsgill's bosky shade*"] 

2 [MS. " never more 

The hoy should visit Albion's shore."] 



196 rokeby. Canto VI, 

But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles came, 
And stronger Chieftains urged a claim, 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native towers, his father's lands. 
Unable then, amid the strife, 
To guard young Redmond's rights or life, 
Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores, 
With goodly gifts and letters stored, 
With many a deep conjuring word, 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 
Nought knew the clod of Irish earth, 
Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 
But deem'd his Chief's commands were laid 
On both, by both to be obey'd. 1 
How he was wounded by the way, 
1 need not, and I list not say.' — 

XVI. 

" * A wondrous tale ! and, grant it true, 
What, 1 WyclifFe answer'd, ' might I do ? 
Heaven knows, as willingly as now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow, 
Would I my kinsman's manors fair 2 
Restore to Mortham, or his heir ; 
But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 

1 [The MS. has not this couplet.] 

- [MS. — " Would I my kinsman's lands resign 

To Mortham's self and Mortham's line ; 

But Mortham raves— and this O'Neale 

Has drawn," &c] 






I VI. ROKEBY. 197 

Malignant to our rightful cause, 
And trained in Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart !' — They whisper *d long, 
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong : — 
• My proofs ! I never will, 1 he said, 
4 Show mortal man where they are laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose, 
By giving me to feed the crows •, 
For I have mates at large, who know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from band, 
These tablets are at thy command ; 
Xor were it hard to form some train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the goodly land.' — 
— ' I like thy wit,' said WyclifFe, ' well ; 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
Thy son, unless my purpose err, 
May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold shalt thou have, and that good store, 
And freedom, his commission o'er ; 
But if his faith should chance to fail, 
The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' 

XVII. 

" Mesh'd in the net himself had twined, 
"What subterfuge could Denzil find ? 
He told me, with reluctant sigh, 
That hidden here the tokens lie ; l 

- IMS,—" In secret where the tokens lie."] 



198 rokeby. Canto VI, 

Conjured my swift return and aid, 

By all he scoff'd and disobeyed, 1 

And look'd as if the noose were tied, 

And I the priest who left his side. 

This scroll for Mortham Yv r yclifre gave, 

Whom I must seek by Greta's wave : 

Or in the hut where chief he hides, 

Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 

(Thence chanced it, wandering in the glade, 

That he descried our ambuscade). 

I was dismiss'd as evening fell, 

And reach'd but now this rocky cell." — 

" Give Oswald's letter/ 1 — Bertram read. 

And tore it fiercely, shred by shred :— 

" All lies and villany ! to blind 

His noble kinsman's generous mind, 

And train him on from day to day, 

Till he can take his life away. — 

And now, declare thy purpose, youth, 

Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 

If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 

I'll tear the secret from thy heart ! " — 

XVIII. 
" It needs not. I renounce," he said, 
My tutor and his deadly trade. 
Fix'd was my purpose to declare 
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ; 
To tell him in what risk he stands, 
And yield these tokens to his hands. 
Fix'd was my purpose to atone, 
Far as I may, the evil done ; 

• [MS.—" By ties he scoff'd," &c] 



VL ROKEBY. 199 

And fix'd it rests — if I survive 

This night, and leave this cave alive." — 

w And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the rack. 

Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 

If Oswald tear him limb from limb, 

What ruth can Denzil claim from him, 

Whose thoughtless youth he led astray. 

And damn'd to this unhallow'd way ? 

He school'd me, faith and vows were vain : 

Now let my master reap his gain.'* — 

" True." answer'd Bertram, i; 'tis his meed : 

There's retribution in the deed. 

But thou — thou art not for our course, 

Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse : 

And he, with us the gale who braves. 

Must heave such cargo to the waves, 

Or lag with overloaded prore, 

While barks unburden'd reach the shore." 

XIX. 

He paused, and, stretching him at length, 
Seem'd to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind, 
As half he sat, and half reclined, 
One ample hand his forehead press'd. 
And one was dropp'd across his breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy name ; 
His lip of pride a while forbore 
The haughty curve till then it wore i 
The unalter'd fierceness of his look 
A shade of darken'd sadness took, l 

1 [MS. — "A darken'd sad expression took, 

The unalter'd fierceness of his look, "] 



200 rokeby. Canto VI. 

For dark and sad a presage press'd 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone, 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
His voice was steady, low, and deep, 
Like distant waves when breezes sleep ; 
And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's fear, 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 

XX. 

" Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
The woe that warp'd my patron's mind 
'Twould wake the fountains of the eye 
In other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool, 
That sold himself base WyclifFe's tool ; 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain, 
Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word, 
Till now, from Bertram never heard : 
Say, too, that Mortham's Lord he prays 
To think but on their former days ; 
On Quariana's beach and rock, 
On Cayo's bursting battle-shock, 
On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — 
Perchance my patron yet may hear 
More that may grace his comrade's bier. 1 
My soul hath felt a secret weight, 
A warning of approaching fate : 



1 [MS.—" Perchance that Mortham yet may hear 
Something to grace his comrade's bier."] 



Canto VI. rokebv. 201 

A priest had said, c Return, repent !' 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 
My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 1 

XXI. 

" The dawning of my youth, with awe 
And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 
For over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon- flame. 
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine, 
When, challenging the Clans of Tyne 
To bring their best my brand to prove, 
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove \ 2 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 
Held champion meet to take it down. 
My noontide, India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, I fired the air \ 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
Panama's maids shall long look pale 
When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name, 
And now, my race of terror run, 
Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
No pale gradations quench his ray, 
No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red, 
He rushes to his burning bed, 
Dyes the wide wave with blood}- light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is night.— 

[MS. " ne'er shall bend.""] 

2 [See Appendix, Note 2 V.] 



202 rokrby. Canto VI. 

XXII. 

" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond, where his troops are laid, 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 1 
Now, fare-thee-well ; for night draws on, 
And I would rest me here alone. ,, 
Despite his ill-dissembled fear, 
There swam in Edmund's eye a tear ; 
A tribute to the courage high, 
Which stoop'd not in extremity, 
But strove, irregularly great, 
To triumph o'er approaching fate ! 
Bertram beheld the dewdrop start. 
It almost touched his iron heart : — 
M I did not think there lived," he said, 
44 One, who would tear for Bertram shed." 
He loosen'd then his baldric's hold, 
A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 
44 Of all the spoil that paid his pains, 
But this with Risingham remains ; 
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take, 
And wear it long for Bertram's sake, 
Once more — to Mortham speed amain ; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 

XXIII. 

The night has yielded to the morn, 
And far the hours of prime are worn, 
i [MS. — " With him and Fairfax for his friend, 
No risk that Wycliffe dares contend. 

Tell him the while, at Eglistone 
There will he one to guard his son."] 



Canto VL rokebv. 203 

Oswald, who, since the dawn of day, 

Had cursed his messenger's delay, 

Impatient questional now his train, 

" "Was DenziTs son return xl again P" 

It chanced there answered of the crew, 

A menial, who young Edmund knew : 

" Xo son of Denzil this," — he said ; 

A peasant boy from Winston glade, 

For song and minstrelsy renown cl, 

And knavish prank,s, the hamlets round/*' — 

" Xot DenziFs son ! — From Winston vale ! — 

Then it was false, that specious tale ; 

Or, worse — he hath despatched the youth 

To show to MorthanFs Lord its truth. 

Fool that I was ! — but 'tis too late : — 

This is the very turn of fate ! — : 

The tale, or true or false, relies 

On Denzil"s evidence ! — He dies ! — 

Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 

Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 

Allow him not a parting word ; 

Short he the shrift, and sure the cord ! 

Then let his gory head appal 

Marauders from the Castle- wall. 

Lead forth thy guard, that duty done, 

With best despatch to Eglistone 

Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
Attend me at the Castle-gate."— 

XXIY. 
" Alas !" the old domestic said, 
And shook his venerable head, 

i [MS. — " This is the crisis of my fate."] 



204 rokeby. Canto TV. 

" Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 
May my young master brook the way ! 
The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 
Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart, 
That mars and lets his healing art." — 
" Tush, tell not me ! — Romantic boys 
Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 
I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 
Bid him for Eglistone be boune, 
And quick ! I hear the dull death-drum 
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." 
He paused with scornful smile, and then 
Resumed his train of thought agen. 
" Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 
Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 
Nought else, can bend Matilda's pride, 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
But when she sees the scaffold placed, 
With axe and block and headsman graced, 
And when she deems, that to deny 
Dooms Redmond and her sire to die, 

She must give way Then, were the line 

Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 
I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
If Mortham come, he comes too late, 
While I, allied thus and prepared, 

Bid him defiance to his beard 

— If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 
To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause we there. 
Mortham still lives — yon youth may tell 
His tale — and Fairfax loves him well •, — 
Else, wherefore should I now delay 
To sweep this Redmond from my way ? 



( 'anto VI. ROKEiiv. 205 

But she to piety perforce 

Must yield Without there ! Sound to horse." 

XXV. 

Twas bustle in the court below, — 

" Mount, and march forward !" — Forth they go ; 

Steeds neigh and trample ail around, 

Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound 

Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 
And Denzil turn'd his eyeballs dim, 
And, scarcely conscious what he sees, 
Follows the horsemen down the Tees ; l 
And scarcely conscious what he hears, 
The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now, 
The van is hid by greenwood bough ; 
But ere the rearward had pass'd o'er, 
Guy Denzil heard and saw no more ! 
One stroke, upon the Castle bell, 
To Oswald rung his dying knell. 

XXVI. 

O, for that pencil, erst profuse 
Of chivalry's emblazon'd hues, 
That traced of old, in Woodstock bower, 
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
And bodied forth the tourney high, 
Field for the hand of Emily ! 
Then might I paint the tumult broad, 
That to the crowded abbey flow'd, 
And pour'd, as with an ocean's sound, 
Into the church's ample bound ! 
Then might I show each varying mien, 
Exulting, woeful, or serene ; 

i [MS.—" Marks the dark cloud sweep down the Tees."] 



206 rokeby. Canto VI. 

Indifference, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air, 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarm 'd, and sad of cheer ; 
And his proud foe, whose formal eve 
Claim'd conquest now and mastery \ 
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel, 
xA.nd loudest shouts when lowest lie 
Exalted worth and station high. 
Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
'Tis mine to tell an onward tale, 
Hurrying, as best I can, along, 
The hearers and the hasty song \ — 
Like traveller when approaching home, 
"Who sees the shades of evening come, 
And must not now his course delay, 
Or choose the fair, but winding way ; 
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend, 
To bless the breeze that cools his brow, 
Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 

XXVII. 

The reverend pile lay wild and waste, 

Profaned, dishonoured and defaced. 

Through storied lattices no more 

In soften'd light the sunbeams pour, 

Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 

Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 

The Civil fury of the time 

Made sport of sacrilegious crime •, x 

For dark Fanaticism rent 

Altar, and screen, and ornament, 

i [The MS. has not this nor the preceding couplet.] 



Canto VI. kokeby. 207 

And peasant hands the tombs o"ertlirew 
Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 1 

And now was seen, unwonted sight, 

In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 

Where once the priest, of grace divine 

Dealt to his flock the mystic sign ; 

There stood the block display -d. and there 

The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 

And for the word of Hope and Faith, 

Kesounded loud a doom of death. 

Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was heard, 

And echo'd thrice the herald's word, 

Dooming, for breach of martial laws, 

And treason to the Commons' cause, 

The Knight of Rokeby and O'Xeale 

To stoop their heads to block and steel, 

The trumpets flourish 'd high and shrill, 

Then was a silence dead and still ; 

And silent prayers to heaven were cast, 

And stifling sobs were bursting fast, 

Till from the crowd began to rise 

Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 

And from the distant isles there came 

Deep-mutter d threats, with Wycliffe's name, 2 

XXVIII, 

But Oswald, guarded by his band. 
Powerful in evil, waved his hand, 
And bade Sedition's voice be dead. 
On peril of the murmurer's head, 



i [MS.— •'■' And peasants 5 base-born hands overthrew 

The tombs of Lacy and Fitz-Hugh."] 
2 [MS.— " Muttering of threats, and Wycliffe's name."] 



rokeby. Canto VI. 

Then first his glance sought Rokeby's Knight ; l 

Who gazed on the tremendous sight, 

As calm as if he came a guest 

To kindred Baron's feudal feast, 2 

As calm as if that trumpet-call 

Were summons to the banner'd hall ; 

Firm in his loyalty he stood, 

And prompt to seal it with his blood. 

With downcast look drew Oswald nigh, — 

He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye 3- — 3 

And said, with low and faltering breath, 

" Thou know'st the terms of life and death." 

The Knight then turn'd, and sternly smiled ; 

w * The maiden is mine only child, 

Yet shall my blessing leave her head, 

If with a traitor's son she wed." 

Then Redmond spoke : " The life of one 

Might thy malignity atone, 4 

On me be flung a double guilt ! 

Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be spilt !" 

Wycliffe had listen'd to his suit, 

But dread prevail'd, and he was mute, 

XXIX. 

And now he pours his choice of fear 
In secret on Matilda's ear ; 

1 [MS. — " Then from his victim sought to know 

The working of his tragic show, 
And first his glance," &c] 

2 [MS. — " To some high Baron's feudal feast, 

And that loud pealing trumpet-call 

Was summons," &c] 
s [MS. — " He durst not meet his scornful eye."] 
4 [MS. " the blood of one 

Might this malignant plot atone."] 



VI. ROKEBV. 209 

•• An union form'd with me and mine, 

Ensures the faith of Rokeby's line. 

Consent, and all this dread array, 

Like morning dream shall pass away ; 

Refuse, and, by my duty press'd, 

I give the word — thou know'st the rest/' 

Matilda, still and motionless, 

With terror heard the dread address, 

Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 

To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 

Then rung her hands in agony, 

And round her cast bewildered eye. 

Now on the scaffold glanc'd, and now 

On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 

She veiTd her face, and, with a voice 

Scarce audible, — M I make my choice ! 

Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside, 

Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 

He once was generous !" — As she spoke, 

Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke :— 

" Wilfrid, where loiter 'd ye so late ? 

Why upon Basil rest thy weight ?— 

Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 

Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand \ x 

Thank her with raptures, simple boy ! 

Should tears and trembling speak thy joy r" — . 

" O hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 

Of mine thou hast refused thine ear ; 

But now the awful hour draws on, 

When truth must speak in loftier tone/' 



[In place of this and preceding couplet, the MS. has, 
" Successful was the scheme he plann'd : 
' Kneel, Wilfrid! take her yielded hand !' "] 
o 



210 rokeby. Canto VI. 

XXX. 

He took Matilda's hand \ l — " Dear maid, 

Couldst thou so injure me," he said, 

" Of thy poor friend so basely deem, 

As blend with him this barbarous scheme ! 

Alas ! my efforts made in vain, 

Might well have saved this added pain. 2 

But now, bear witness, earth and heaven, 

That ne'er was hope to mortal given, 

So tw r isted 3 with the strings of life, 

As this — to call Matilda wife ! 

I bid it now for ever part, 

And with the effort bursts my heart."' 

His feeble frame was worn so low, 

With wounds, with watching, and with woe, 

That nature could no more sustain 

The agony of mental pain. 

He kneel'd — his lip her hand had press'd, — 4 

Just then he felt the stern arrest. 

Lower and lower sunk his head, — 

They raised him, — but the life was fled ! 

Then, first alarm 'd, his sire and train 

Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 

The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 

Had left our mortal hemisphere, 

And sought in better world the meed, 

To blameless life by Heaven decreed. 



i [MS.—" He kneel'd and took her hand."] 

2 j_MS. — " To save the complicated pain."] 

3 [MS.—'-' Blended:'] 

4 [MS. — " His lips upon her hands were press'd,— 

Just as he felt the stern arrest."} 



Canto VI. rokeby. '211 

XXXI. 
The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 
With Wilfrid all his projects past, 
All turn'd and centred on his son, 
On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 
" And I am childless now," he said ; 
" Childless, through that relentless maid ! 
A lifetime's arts, in vain essay'd, 
Are bursting on their artist's head ! — 
Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 
Comes hated Mortham for his heir, 
Eager to knit in happy band 
With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand. 
And shall their triumph soar o'er all 
The schemes deep-laid to work their fall ? 
No ! — deeds, which prudence might not dare. 
Appal not vengeance and despair. 
The murdress weeps upon his bier — 
I'll change to real that feigned tear ! 
They all shall share destruction's shock ; — 
Ho ! lead the captives to the block !" — 
But ill his Provost could divine 
His feelings, and forbore the sign. 
' ; Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they. 
Shall face the judgment-seat this day !" 

XXXII. 

The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, — - 
The very deaths-men paused to hear. 
'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 



212 rokeby. Canto VI. 

Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 

Return the tramp in varied tone. 

All eyes upon the gateway hung, 

When through the Gothic arch there sprung 

A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — 

Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 1 

Fire from the flinty floor was spurn'd, 

The vaults unwonted clang returned ! — 

One instant's glance around he threw 

From saddlebow his pistol drew. 

Grimly determined was his look ! 

His charger with the spurs he strook — 

All scatter'd backward as he came, 

For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 

Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 2 

The first has reach 'd the central nave, 

The second clear'd the chancel wide, 

The third — he was at WycliftVs side. 

Full levelFd at the Baron's head, 

Rung the report — the bullet sped — 

And to his long account, and last, 

Without a groan dark Oswald past ! 

All was so quick, that it might seem 

A flash of lightning, or a dream. 

XXXIII. 

While yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
But flounder'd on the pavement-floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore, 

1 [See Appendix, Note 2 W.] 

2 [MS. — " Three bounds he made, that noble steed ; 

The first the/ \acies' torn b | hag fr6ed „-, 
t chancel s bound ) 



Canto VI. rokeby. 213 

And, bursting in the headlong sway. 
The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
Twaa while he toil'd him to be freed, 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once. 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 
A score of pikes, with each a wound, 
Bore down and pinn'd him to the ground : l 
But still his struggling force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ; 
Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee, 
By tenfold odds oppress'd at length, 2 
Despite his struggles and his strength, 
He took 3 a hundred mortal wounds, 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan ! 4 
— They gazed, as when a lion dies, 
And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
But bend their weapons on the slain, 
Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 5 
Then blow and insult some renew'd, 
And from the trunk, the head had hew'd, 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade ^ 6 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid : — 

1 [MS. — " Oppress'd and pinn'd him to the ground."] 

2 [MS. — "And when, by odds borne down at length. "] 

3 [MS.— " He bore."] 

4 [MS. — ■' Had more of laugh in it than moan."] 

5 [MS-. — " But held their weapons ready set, 

Lest the grim king should rouse him yet."] 

6 [MS.—" But Basil check* d them with disdain, 

And flung a mantle o'er the slain."] 



214 rokeby. Canto VI. 

" Fell as he was in act and mind, 
He left no bolder heart behind : 
Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding sheet." 

XXXIV. 

No more of death and dying pang, 

No more of trump and bugle clang, 

Though through the sounding woods there come 

Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 

Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 

Young Redmond at his utmost need, 

And back'd with such a band of horse, 

As might less ample powers enforce •, 

Possess'd of every proof and sign 

That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 

And yielded to a father's arms 

An image of his Edith's charms, — 

Mortham is come, to hear and see 

Of this strange morn the history. 

What saw he ? — not the church's floor, 

Cumber'd with dead and stain 'd with gore ; 

What heard he ? — not the clamorous crowd, 

That shout their gratulations loud : 

Redmond he saw and heard alone, 

Clasp "d him, and sobb'd, "My son, my son !" — l 

1 [MS. — Here the Author of Rokeby wrote, 
" End of Canto VI." 
Stanza xxxv., added at the request of the printer and another 
friend, was accompanied by the following note to Mr. Ballan- 
tyne :— 

-Dear James, 
"I send you this, out of deference to opinions so strongly ex- 
pressed ; but still retaining my own, that it spoils one effect with- 
out producing another. 

"W. S."] 



Canto VI. rokebv. 21,* 

XXXV. 

This chanced upon a summer morn, 

When yellow waved the heavy corn : 

But when brown August o'er the land 

Call'd forth the reaper's busy band, 

A gladsome sight the silvan road 

From Egli stone to Mortham show'd, 

A while the hardy rustic leaves 

The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 

And maids their sickles fling aside, 

To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 

And childhood's wondering group draws near, 

And from the gleaner's hand the ear 

Drops, while she folds them for a prayer 

And blessing on the lovely pair. 

'Twas then the Maid of Rokebv gave 

Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 

And Teesdale can remember yet 

How Fate to Virtue paid her debt, 

And, for their troubles, bade them prove 

A lengthen'd life of peace and love. 



Time and Tide had thus their sway, 
Yielding, like an April day, 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow, 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow ! 



[ 217 ] 



APPENDIX. 



Note A. 
On Barnard's towers and Tees' 's stream, <$-c.—P. 21. 

" Barnard Castle," saith old Leland, (i standetli stately upon 
Tees." It is founded upon a very high bank, and its ruins impend 
over the river, including -within the area a circuit of six acres and 
upwards. This once magnificent fortress derives its name from its 
founder, Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short and unfortunate 
dynasty of that name, which succeeded to the Scottish throne un- 
der the patronage of Edward I. and Edward III. Baliol's Tower, 
afterwards mentioned in the poem, is a round tower of great size, 
situated at the western extremity of the building. It bears marks 
of great antiquity, and was remarkable for the curious construc- 
tion of its vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly irjjured by 
the operations of some persons, to whom the tower has been leased, 
for the purpose of making patent shot ! The prospect from the top 
of Baliol's Tower commands a rich and magnificent view of the 
wooded valley of the Tees. 

Barnard Castle often changed masters during the middle ages. 
Upon the forfeiture of the unfortunate John Baliol, the first king 
of Scotland of that family, Edward I. seized this fortress among 
the other English estates of his refractory vassal. It was after- 
wards vested in the Beauchamps of Warwick, and in the Staffords 
of Buckingham, and was also sometimes in the possession of the 
Bishops of Durham, and sometimes in that of the crown. Richard 
III. is said to have enlarged and strengthened its fortifications; and 



218 APPENDIX TO 

to have made it for some time his principal residence, for the pur- 
pose of bridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in the 
northern counties. From the Staffords, Barnard Castle passed, 
probably by marriage, into the possession of the powerful Nevilles, 
Earls of Westmoreland, and belonged to the last representative of 
that family when he engaged with the Earl of Northumberland in 
the ill-concerted insurrection of the twelfth of Queen Elizabeth. 
Upon this occasion, however, Sir George Bowes of Sheatlam, who 
held great possessions in the neighbourhood, anticipated the two 
insurgent earls, by seizing upon and garrisoning Barnard Castle, 
which he held out for ten days against all their forces, and then 
surrendered it upon honourable terms. See Sadler's State Papers, 
vol. ii. p. 330. 

By the suppression of this rebellion, and the consequent forfeit- 
ure of the Earl of Westmoreland, Barnard Castle reverted to the 
crown, and was sold or leased out to Car, Earl of Somerset, the 
guilty and unhappy favourite of James I. It was afterwards granted 
to Sir Henry Vane the elder, and was therefore, in all probability, 
occupied for the Parliament, whose interest during the Civil War 
was so keenly espoused by the Vanes. It is now, with the other 
estates of that family, the property of the Bight Honourable Earl 
of Darlington. 



Note B. 

The morion's plumes his visage hide, 

And the buff-coat, in ample fold, 

Mantles Jiis form's gigantic mould." — P. 25. 

The use of complete suits of armour was fallen into disuse during 
the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaders of rank and 
importance. " In the reign of King James I.," says our military 
antiquary. " no great alterations were made in the article of de- 
fensive armour, except that the buff-coat, or jerkin, which was ori- 
ginally worn under the cuirass, now became frequently a substitute 
for it, it having been found that a good buff leather would of itself 
resist the stroke of a sword ; this, however, only occasionally took 
place among the light-armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits 
of armour being still used among the heavy horse. Buff-coats con- 
tinued to be worn by the city trained-bands till within the memory 
of persons now living, so that defensive armour may, in some mea- 
sure, be said to have terminated in the same materials with which 
it began, that is, the skins of animals, or leather." — Grose's Mili- 
tary Antiquities. Lond. 1801, 4to. vol. ii. p. 323. 



ROKEBV. 21.0 

Of the buff-coats, which were worn over the corslets, several are 
yet preserved ; and. Captain Grose has given an engraving of one 
which was used, in the time of Charles I. by Sir Francis Rhodes, 
Bart, of Balbrough-Hall, Derbyshire. They were usually lined 
with silk or linen, secured before by buttons, or by a lace, and often 
richly decorated with gold or silver embroidery. From the follow- 
ing curious account of a dispute respecting a buff-coat between an 
old roundhead captain and a justice of peace, by whom his arms 
were seized after the Restoration, we learn, that the value and im- 
portance of this defensive garment were considerable : — " A party 
of horse came to my house, commanded by Mr. Peebles; and he 
told me he was come for my arms, and that I must deliver them. 
I asked him for his order. He told me he had a better order than 
Oliver used to give ; and, clapping his hand upon his sword-hilt, 
he said, that was his order. I told him, if he had none but that, it 
was not sufficient to take my arms; and then he pulled out his 
warrant, and I read it. It was signed by Wentworth Armitage. a 
general warrant to search all persons they suspected, and so left 
the power to the soldiers at their pleasure. They came to us at 
Coalley-Hall, about sun-setting ; and I caused a candle to be light- 
ed, and conveyed Peebles into the room where my arms were. My 
arms were near the kitchen fire ; and there they took away fowl- 
ing-pieces, pistols, muskets, carbines, and such like, better than 
£20. Then Mr. Peebles asked me for my buff-coat ; and I told him 
they had no order to take away my apparel. He told me I was not 
to dispute their orders ; but if I would not deliver it, he would carry 
me away prisoner, and had me out of doors. Yet he let me alone 
unto the next morning, that I must wait upon Sir John, at Halifax ; 
and, coming before him, he threatened me, and said, if I did not 
send the coat, for it was too good for me to keep. I told him it 
was not in his power to demand my apparel ; and he, growing into 
a fit, called me rebel and traitor, and said, if I did not send the 
coat with all speed, he would send me where I did not like well. 
I told him I was no rebel, and he did not well to call me so before 
these soldiers and gentlemen, to make me the mark for every one 
to shoot at. I departed the room ; yet, notwithstanding all the 
threatenings, did not send the coat. But the next day he sent John 
Lyster, the son of Mr. Thomas Lyster, of Shipden-Hall, for this 
coat, with a letter, verbatim thus :— ' Mr. Hodson, I admire you 
will play the child so with me as you have done, in writing such an 
inconsiderate letter. Let me have the buff-coat sent forthwith, 
otherwise you shall so hear from me as will not very well please 
you.' I was not at home when this messenger came ; but I had 
ordered my wife not to deliver it, but, if they would take it, let 
them look to it : and he took it awav ; and one of Sir John's breth- 



220 APPENDIX TO 

ren wore it many years after. They sent Captain Batt to compound 
with my wife about it ; but I sent word I would have my own again : 
but he advised me to take a price for it, and make no more ado. I 
said, it was hard to take my arms and apparel too ; I had laid out 
a great deal of money for them ; I hoped they did not mean to de- 
stroy me, by taking my goods illegally from me. He said he would 
make up the matter, if I pleased, betwixt us : and, it seems, had 
brought Sir John to a price for my coat. I would not have taken 
£\0 for it ; he would have given about £A ; but, wanting my re- 
ceipt for the money, he kept both sides, and I had never satisfac- 
tion." — Memoirs of Captain Hodgson, Edin. 1806, p. 178. 



Note C. 

Death had he seen by sudden Now, 

By ivasting plague, by tortures slow.— P. 27. 

In this character, I have attempted to sketch one of those West 
Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth cen- 
tury, were popularly known by the name of Bucaniers. The suc- 
cesses of the English in the predatory incursions upon Spanish 
America, during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been forgotten ; 
and, from that period downward, the exploits of Drake and Raleigh 
were imitated, upon a smaller scale indeed, but with equally des- 
perate valour, by small bands of pirates, gathered from all nations, 
but chiefly French and English. The engrossing policy of the 
Spaniards tended greatly to increase the number of these free- 
booters, from whom their commerce and colonies suffered, in the 
issue, dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, which the Spa- 
niards did not deem worthy their own occupation, had been gra- 
dually settled by adventurers of the French and English nations. 
But Frederic of Toledo, who was despatched in 1630, with a power- 
ful fleet against the Dutch, had orders from the Court of Madrid 
to destroy these colonies, whose vicinity at once offended the pride 
and excited the jealous suspicions of their Spanish neighbours. 
This order the Spanish Admiral executed with sufficient rigour ; 
but the only consequence was, that the planters, being rendered des- 
perate bv persecution, began, under the well-known name of Buca- 
niers, to commence a retaliation so horridly savage, that the perusal 
makes the reader shudder. When they carried, on their depreda- 
tions at sea, they boarded, without respect to disparity of number, 
every Spanish vessel that came in their way ; and, demeaning them- 
selves, both in the battle and after the conquest, more like demons 
than human beings, they succeeded in impressing their enemies 



ROKEBY. 221 

with a sort of superstitious terror, which rendered them incapable 
of offering effectual resistance. From piracy at sea, they advanced 
to making predatory descents on the Spanish territories ; in which 
they displayed the same furious and irresistible valour, the same 
thirst of spoil, and the same brutal inhumanity to their captives. 
The large treasures which they acquired in their adventures, they 
dissipated by the most unbounded licentiousness in gaming, women, 
wine, and debauchery of every species. When their spoils were 
thus wasted, they entered into some new association, and under- 
took new adventures. For farther particulars concerning these 
extraordinary banditti, the reader may consult Raynal, or the com- 
mon and popular book called The History of the Bucaniers. 



Note D. 



- On Marston heath 



Met, front to front, the ranks of death.— V. 30. 

The well-known and desperate battle of Long-Marston Moor, 
which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of Charles, com- 
menced under very different auspices. Prince Rupert had marched 
with an army of 20,000 men for the relief of York, then besieged 
by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at the head of the Parliamentary army, 
and the Earl of Leven, with the Scottish auxiliary forces. In this 
he so completely succeeded, that he compelled the besiegers to re- 
treat to Marston Moor, a large open plain, about eight miles dis- 
tant from the city. Thither they were followed by the Prince, 
who had now united to his army the garrison of York, probably 
not less than ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquis 
(then Earl) of Newcastle. Whitelocke has recorded with much 
impartiality, the following particulars of this eventful day; — " The 
right wing of the Parliament was commanded by Sir Thomas Fair- 
fax, and consisted of all his horse, and three regiments of the Scots 
horse ; the left wing was commanded by the Earl of Manchester 
and Colonel Cromwell. One body of their foot was commanded 
by Lord Fairfax, and consisted of his foot, and two brigades of the 
Scots foot for a reserve ; and the main body of the rest of the foot 
was commanded by General Leven. 

" The right wing of the Prince's army was commanded by the 
Earl of Newcastle ; the left whig by the Prince himself; and the 
main body by General Goring, Sir Charles Lucas, and Major-Ge- 
neral Porter :— thus were both sides drawn up into battalia. 

" July 3d, 1644. In this posture both armies faced each other, and 
about seven o'clock in the morning the fight began between them. 



222 



APPENDIX TO 



The Prince, with his left wing, fell on the Parliament's right wing, 
routed them, and pursued them a great way ; the like did General 
Goring, Lucas, and Porter, upon the Parliament's main body. The 
three generals, giving all for lost, hasted out of the field, and many 
of their soldiers fled, and threw down their arms ;. the King's forces 
too eagerly folio wing them, the victory, now almost achieved by 
them, was again snatched out of their hands. For Colonel Crom- 
well, with the brave regiment of his countrymen, and Sir Thoma3 
Fairfax, having rallied some of his horse, fell upon the Prince's 
right wing, where the Earl of Newcastle was, and routed them ; 
and the rest of their companions rallying, they fell altogether upon 
the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and totally dispersed 
them, and obtained a complete victory, after three hours' fight. 

" From this battle and the pursuit, some reckon were buried 
7000 Englishmen ; all agree that above 3000 of the Prince's men 
■were slain in the battle, besides those in the chase, and 3000 pri- 
soners taken, many of their chief officers, twenty-five pieces of ord- 
nance, forty-seven colours, 10,000 arms, two waggons of carabins 
and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and all their bag and baggage." 
— Whitelocke's Memoirs, fol. p. 89. Lond. 1682. 

Lord Clarendon informs us, that the King, previous to receiving 
the true account of the battle, had been informed, by an express 
from Oxford, " that Prince Rupert had not only relieved York, 
but totally defeated the Scots, with many particulars to confirm it, 
all which was so much believed there, that they had made public 
fires of joy for the victory." 



Note E. 

Monckton and Mitton told the news, 

How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 

And many a bonny Scot, aghast, 

Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 

Cursing the day when zeal or meed 

First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. — P. 3". 

Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, and not 
very distant from the field of battle. The particulars of the action 
were violently disputed at the time ; but the following extract, from 
the Manuscript History of the Baronial House of Somervillc, is 
decisive as to the flight of the Scottish general, the Earl of Leven. 
The particulars are given by the author of the history on the au- 
thority of his father, then the representative of the family. This 



ROKEBY. 223 

curious manuscript lias been published by consent of my noble 
friend, the present Lord Somerville. 

'•' The order of this great battell, wherin both armies was neer 
of ane equall number, consisting, to the best calculatione, neer to 
three score thousand men upon both sydes, I shall not take upon 
me to discryve ; albeit, from the draughts then taken upon the 
place, and information I receaved from this gentleman, who being 
then a volunteer, as having no command, had opportunitie and 
libertie to ryde from the one -wing of the armie to the other, to view 
all ther severall squadrons of horse and battallions of foot, how 
formed, and in what manner drawn up, with every other circum- 
stance relating to the fight, and that both as to the King's armies 
and that of the Parliament's, amongst whom, until 1 the engadg- 
ment, -he went from statione to station e to observe ther order and 
forme ; but that the descriptione of this battell. with the various 
success on both sides at the beginning, with the losse of the royal 
armie, and the sad effects that followed that misfortune as to his 
Majestie's interest, hes been so often done already by English au- 
thors, little to our commendatione, how justly I shall not dispute, 
seing the truth is, as our principall generall fled that night neer 
fourtie mylles from the place of the fight, that part of the ar- 
mie where he commanded being totallie routed ; but it is as true. 
that much of the victorie is attributed to the good conduct of 
David Lesselie, hevetennent-generall of our horse. Cromwell him- 
self, that minione of fortune, but the rod of God's wrath, to punish 
eftirward three rebellious nations, disdained not to take orders 
from him, albeit then in the same qualitie of command for the Par- 
liament, as being lievetennent-general to the Earl of Manchester's 
horse, whom, with the assistance of the Scots horse, haveing routed 
the Prince's right wing, as he had done that of the Parliament's. 
These two commanders of the horse upon that wing, wisely re- 
strained the great bodies of ther horse from persuing these brockon 
troups, but, wheelling to the left-hand, falls in upon the naked 
flanks of the Prince's mam battallion of foot, carying them doune 
with great violence ; nether mett they with any great resistance 
untill they came to the Marques of Newcastle his battallione or 
White Coats, who, first peppering them soundly with ther shott, 
when they came to charge, stoutly boor them up with ther picks 
that they could not enter to break them. Here the Parliament': 
horse of that wing receaved ther greatest losse, and a stop for sonie- 
tyme putt to their hoped-for victorie ; and that only by the stout 
resistance of this gallant battallione, which consisted neer of four 
thousand foot, untill at length a Scots regiment of dragouns, com- 
manded by Collonell Frizeall, with other two, was brought to open. 
them upon some hand, which at length they did, when all the am- 



224 APPENDIX TO 

munitione was spent. Having refused quarters, every man fell in 
the same order and ranke wherein he had foughten. 

" Be this execution was done, the Prince returned from the per- 
suite of the right wing of the Parliament's horse, which he had 
beatten and followed too farre, to the losse of the battell, which 
certanely, in all men's opinions, he might have caryed if he had not 
been too violent upon the persuite ; which gave his enemies upon 
the left hand opportunitie to disperse and cut doune his infantrie, 
who, haveing cleared the field of all the standing bodies of foot, 
wer now, with many of their oune, standing ready to 

receave the charge of his allmost spent horses, if he should attempt 
it ; which the Prince observeing, and seeing all lost, he retreated to 
Yorke with two thousand horse. Notwithstanding of this, ther was 
that night such a consternatione in the Parliament armies, that it's 
believed by most of those that wer there present, that if the Prince, 
haveing so great a body of horse inteire, had made ane onfall that 
night, or the ensueing morning be-time, he had carryed the victorie 
out of ther hands ; for it's certane, by the morning's light, he had 
rallyed a body of ten thousand men, wherof ther was neer three 
thousand gallant horse. These, with the assistance of the toune 
and garrisoune of Yorke, might have done much to have recovered 
the victory, for the losse of this battell in effect lost the King and 
his interest in the three kingdomes ; his Majestie never being able 
eftir this to make head in the north, but lost his garrisons every day. 
" As for Generall Lesselie, in the beginning of this flight haveing 
that part of the army quite brocken, where he had placed himself, 
by the valour of the Prince, he imagined, and was confermed by 
the opinione of others then upon the place with him, that the bat- 
tell was irrecoverably lost, seeing they wer fleeing upon all hands ; 
theirfore they humblie intreated his excellence to reteir and wait 
his better fortune, which, without farder advyseing, he did ; and 
never drew bridle untill he came the lenth of Leads, having ridden 
all that night with a cloak of drap de berrie about him, belonging 
to this gentleman of whom I write, then in his retinue, with many 
other officers of good qualitie. It was neer twelve the next day 
befor they had the certanety who was master of the field, when at 
length ther arryves ane express, sent by David Lesselie, to ac- 
quaint the General they had obtained a most glorious victory, and 
that the Prince, with his brocken troupes, was fled from Yorke. 
This intelligence was somewhat amazeing to these gentlemen that 
had been eye-witnesses to the disorder of the armie before ther re- 
tearing, and had then accompanyed the General in his flight ; who, 
being much wearyed that evening of the battell with ordering his 
armie, and now quite spent with his long journey in the night, 
had casten himselfe doune upon a bed to rest, when this gentleman 



ROKEBY. 225 

comeing quyetly into his chamber, he awoke, and hastily cryes 
out, ' Lievetennent-collonell, what newes ?' — ' All is safe, may it 
please your Excellence ; the Parliament's armie hes obtained a 
great victory ;' and then delyvers the letter. The Generall, upon 
the hearing of this, knocked upon his breast, and sayes, ( I would 
to God I had dyed upon the place !' and then opens the letter, 
which, in a few lines, gave ane account of the victory, and in the 
close pressed his speedy returne to the armie, which he did the 
next day, being accompanyed some mylles back by this gentleman, 
who then takes his leave of him, and receaved at parting many ex- 
pressions of kyndenesse, with promises that he would never be un- 
myndful of his care and respect towards him ; and in the end he 
intreats him to present his service to all his friends and acquaint- 
ances in Scotland. Thereftir the Generall sets forward in his jour- 
ney for the armie, as this gentleman did for 

in order to his transportatione for Scotland, where he arryved sex 
dayes eftir the fight of Mestoune Muir, and gave the first true ac- 
count and descriptione of that great battell, wherin the Covenant- 
ers then gloryed soe much, that they impiously boasted the Lord 
had now signally appeared for his cause and people : it being ordi- 
nary for them, dureing the whole time of this warre, to attribute 
the greatnes of their success to the goodnes and justice of ther 
cause, untill Divine Justice trysted them with some crosse dispen- 
satione, and then you might have heard this language from them. 
; That it pleases the Lord to give his oune the heavy est end of the 
tree to bear, that the saints and the people of God must still be 
sufferers while they are here away, that the malignant party was 
God's rod to punish them for ther unthankfullnesse, which in the 
end he will cast into the fire ;' with a thousand other expressions 
and scripture citations, prophanely and blasphemiously uttered by 
them, to palliate ther villainie and rebellion." — Memorie of tlw 
Somervilles. Edin. 1815. 



Note F. 

With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say, 
Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day. — P, 38. 

Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a principal share 
in turning the fate of the day at Marston Moor : which was equally 
matter of triumph to the Independents, and of grief and heart- 
burning to the Presbyterians and to the Scottish. Principal Baillie 
expresses his dissatisfaction as follows : — 

il The Independents sent up one quickly to assure that all the 
P 



226 APPENDIX TO 

glory of that night was theirs ; and they and their Major-General 
Cromwell had done it all there alone : but Captain Stuart after- 
ward showed the vanity and falsehood of their disgraceful relation. 
God gave us that victory wonderfully. There were three generals 
on each side, Lesley, Fairfax, and Manchester; Rupert, Newcastle, 
and King. Within half an hour and less, all six took them to their 
heels ; — this to you alone. The disadvantage of the ground, and 
violence of the flower of Prince Rupert's horse, carried all our right 
wing down ; only Eglinton kept ground, to his great loss ; his lieu- 
tenant-crowner, a brave man, I fear shall die, and his son Robert 
be mutilated of an arm. Lindsay had the greatest hazard of any ; 
but the beginning of the victory was from David Lesly, who before 
was much suspected of evil designs : he, with the Scots and Crom- 
well's horse, having the advantage of the ground, did dissipate all 
before them."— Baillie's Letters and Journals. Edin. 1785, 8vo, 
ii. 36. 

Note G. 

Do not my native dales prolong 

Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 

Trairid forward to Ms bloody fall, 

By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ?— P. 38. 

In a poem, entitled " The Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel," 
Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many others peculiar to the valley 
of the Reed, is commemorated: — " The particulars of the tradi- 
tional story of Parcy Reed of Troughend, and the Halls of Girson- 
field, the author had from a descendant of the family of Reed. 
From his account, it appears that Percival Reed, Esquire, a keeper 
of Reedsdale, was betrayed by the Halls (hence denominated the 
false-hearted Ha's) to a band of moss-troopers of the name of 
Crosier, who slew him at Batinghope, near the source of the Reed. 

" The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Reed, held in such 
universal abhorrence and contempt by the inhabitants of Reeds- 
dale, for their cowardly and treacherous behaviour, that they were 
obliged to leave the country." In another passage we are inform- 
ed that the ghost of the injured Borderer is supposed to haunt the 
banks of a brook called the Pringle. These Redes of Troughend 
were a very ancient family, as may be conjectured from their de- 
riving their surname from the river on which they had their man- 
sion. An epitaph on one of their tombs affirms, that the family 
held their lands of Troughend, which are situated on the Reed, 
nearly opposite to Otterburn, for the incredible space of nine hun- 
dred vears. 



227 



Note H. 

The moated mound of Risingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet JVoodburne's cottages and frees, 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone.— -P. 39. 

Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beautiful hamlet of 
" Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called Habitan- 
cum. Camden says, that in his time the popular account bore, 
that it had been the abode of a deity, or giant, called Magon ; and 
appeals, in support of this tradition, as well as to the etymology of 
Risingham, or Reisenham, which signifies, in German, the habita- 
tion of the giants, to two Roman altars taken out of the river, in- 
scribed, Deo Mogoxti Cadexoroi. About half a mile distant 
from Risingham, upon an eminence covered with scattered birch- 
trees and fragments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, in alto 
relievo, a remarkable figure, called Robin of Risingham, or Robin 
of Reedsdale. It presents a hunter, with his bow raised in one 
hand, and in the other what seems to be a hare. There is a quiver 
at the back of the figure, and he is dressed in along coat, or kirtle, 
coming down to the knees, and meeting close, with a girdle bound 
round him. Dr. Horseley, who saw all monuments of antiquity 
with Roman eyes, inclines to think this figure a Roman archer : 
and certainly the bow is rather of the ancient size than of that 
which was so formidable in the hand, of the English archers of the 
middle ages. But the rudeness of the whole figure prevents our 
founding strongly upon mere inaccuracy of proportion. The popu- 
lar tradition is, that it represents a giant, whose brother resided at 
Woodburn, and he himself at Risingham. It adds, that they sub- 
sisted by hunting, and that one of them, finding the game become 
too scarce to support them, poisoned his companion, in whose me- 
mory the monument was engraved. What strange and tragic cir- 
cumstance may be concealed under this legend, or whether it is 
utterly apocryphal, it is now impossible to discover. 

The name of Robin of Redesdale was given to one of the Umfra- 
villes, Lords of Prudhoe, and afterwards to one Hilliard, a friend 
and follower of the king-making Earl of Warwick. This person 
commanded an army of Northamptonshire and northern men, who 
seized on and beheaded the Earl Rivers, father to Edward the 
Fourth's queen, and his son, Sir John Woodville.— See Holim* 
shed, ad annum, 1469. 



220 APPENDIX TO 



Note I. 



- do thou revere 



The statutes of the Bucanier.—V. 39. 

The " statutes of the Bucaniers" were, in reality, more equitable 
than could have been expected from the state of society under 
which they had been formed. They chiefly related, as may readi- 
ly be conjectured, to the distribution and the inheritance of their 
plunder. 

When the expedition was completed, the fund of prize-money 
acquired was thrown together, each party taking his oath that he 
had retained or concealed no part of the common stock. If any 
one transgressed in this important particular, the punishment was, 
his being set ashore on some desert key or island, to shift for him- 
self as he could. The owners of the vessel had then their share 
assigned for the expenses of the outfit. These were generally old 
pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St. Domingo, or some other 
French and English settlement. The surgeon's and carpenter's 
salaries, with the price of provisions and ammunition, were also 
defrayed. Then followed the compensation due to the maimed 
and wounded, rated according to the damage they had sustained ; 
as six hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves, for the loss of an arm 
or leg, and so in proportion. 

" After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of the 
booty was divided into as many shares as there were Bucaniers. 
The commander could only lay claim to a single share, as the rest ; 
but they complimented him with two or three, in proportion as he 
had acquitted himself to their satisfaction. When the vessel was 
not the property of the whole company, the person who had fitted 
it out, and furnished it with necessary arms and ammunition, was 
entitled to a third of all the prizes. Favour had never any influ- 
ence in the division of the booty, for every share was determined 
by lot. Instances of such rigid justice as this are not easily met 
with, and they extended even to the dead. Their share was given 
to the man who was known to be their companion when alive, and 
therefore their heir. If the person who had been killed had no 
intimate, his part was sent to his relations, when they were known. 
If there were no friends nor relations, it was distributed in charity 
to the poor and to churches, which were to pray for the person in 
whose name these benefactions were given, the fruits of inhuman, 
but necessary piratical plunders." — Raynal's History of Euro- 
pean Settlements in the East and West Indies, by Justamond. Lond. 
1770; 8vo, iii. p. 41. 



229 



Note K. 
— Rokeba's turrets JiigJi.—V. 57 



This ancient manor long gave name to a family by whom it is 
said to have been possessed from the Conquest downward, and who 
are at different times distinguished in history. It was the Baron 
of Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrection of the Earl of 
Northumberland, tempore Hen. IV., of which" Holinshed gives the 
following account : — " The King, advertised hereof caused a great 
armie to be assembled, and came forward with the same towards 
his enemies: but yer the King came to Nottingham. Sir Thomas 
or (as other copies haue) Sir Rate Rokesbie, Shiriffe of Yorkeshire, 
assembled the forces of the countrie to resist the Earle and his 
power : coming to Grimbauthbrigs, beside Knaresborough. there to 
stop them the passage ;. but they returning aside, got to Weather- 
bie. and so to Tadcaster, and finally came forward unto Eramham- 
moor, near to Haizlewood, where they chose their ground meet to 
fight upon. The Shiriffe was as readie to giue battel! as the Erie 
to receiue it ; and so with a standard of S. George spread, set fierce- 
ly vpon the Earle, who, vnder a standard of his owne amies, en- 
countered his adversaries with great manhood. There was a sore 
incounter and cruell conflict betwixt the parties, but in the end 
the victorie fell to the Shiriffe. The Lord Bardolfe was taken, but 
sore wounded, so that he shortlie after died of the hurts. As for 
the Earle of Northumberland, he was slain outright ; so that now 
the prophecy was fulfilled, which gaue an inkling of this his heauy 
hap long before, namelie, 

' Stirps Persitina periet confusa ruina.' 

For this Earle was the stocke and niaine root of all that were left 
aliue, called by the name of Persie ; and of nianie more by diners 
slaughters dispatched. For whose misfortune the people were not 
a little sorrie, making report of the gentleman's valiantnesse, re- 
nowne, and honour, and applieing vnto him certeine lamentable 
verses out of Lucaine, saieng, 

• Sed nos nee sanguis, nee tantum vulnera nostri 
Affecere sends : quantum gestata per urbem 
Ora ducis, qua? transfixo deformia pilo 
Vidimus.' 

For his head, full of siluer horie haires, being put upon a stake, 
was openiie carried through London, and set vpon the bridge of 
the same citie: in like manner was the Lord Bardolfes."— Holin- 



230 APPENDIX TO 

shed's Chronicles. Lond. 1808, 4to, iii. 45. The Rokeby, or 
Rokesby family, continued to be distinguished until the great Civil 
War, when, having embraced the cause of Charles I., they suffered 
severely by fines and confiscations. The estate then passed from 
its ancient possessors to the family of the Robinsons, from whom 
it was purchased by the father of my valued friend, the present 
proprietor. 

Note L. 

A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 

As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode.—Y. 59. 

What follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, or 
rather ravine, through which the Greta finds a passage between 
Rokeby and Mortham ; the former situated upon the left bank of 
Greta, the latter on the right bank, about half a mile nearer to its 
junction with the Tees. The river runs with very great rapidity 
over a bed of solid rock, broken by many shelving descents, down 
which the stream dashes with great noise and impetuosity, vindi- 
cating its etymology, which has been derived from the Gothic, 
Gridan, to clamour. The banks partake of the same wild and 
romantic character, being chiefly lofty cliffs of limestone rock, 
whose grey colour contrasts admirably with the various trees and 
shrubs which find root among their crevices, as well as with the hue 
of the ivy, which clings around them in profusion, and hangs down 
from their projections in long sweeping tendrils. At other points 
the rocks give place to precipitous banks of earth, bearing large 
trees intermixed with copsewood. In one spot the dell, which is 
elsewhere very narrow, widens for a space to leave room for a dark 
grove of yew-trees, intermixed here and there with aged pines of 
uncommon size. Directly opposite to this sombre thicket, the cliffs 
on the other side of the Greta are tall, white, and fringed with all 
kinds of deciduous shrubs. The whole scenery of this spot is so 
much adapted to the ideas of superstition, that it has acquired the 
name of Blockula, from the place where the Swedish witches were 
supposed to hold their Sabbath. The dell, however, has super- 
stitions of its own growth, for it is supposed to be haunted by a 
female spectre, called the Dobie of Mortham. The cause assigned 
for her appearance is a lady's having been whilom murdered in the 
wood, in evidence of which, her blood is shown upon the stairs of 
the old tower at Mortham. But whether she was slain by a jealous 
husband, or by savage banditti, or by an uncle who coveted her 
estate, or by a rejected lover, are points upon which the traditions 
of Rokeby do not enable us to decide. 



231 



Note M. 

If 'hat gales are sold on Lapland's shore— V. 63. 

'■' Also I shall shew very briefly what force conjurors and -witches 
have in constraining the elements enchanted by them or others. 
that they may exceed or fall short of their natural order: premis- 
ing this, that the extream land of North Finland and Lapland was 
so taught witchcraft formerly in heathenish times, as if they had 
learned this cursed art from Zoroastres the Persian ; though other 
inhabitants by the sea-coasts are reported to be bewitched with the 
same madness ; for they exercise this devilish art, of all the arts of 
the world, to admiration ; and in this, or other such like mischief. 
they commonly agree. The Finlanders were wont formerly, amongst 
their other errors of gentilisme, to sell winds to merchants that 
were stopt on their coasts by contrary weather ; and when they had 
their price, they knit three magical knots, not like to the laws of 
Cassius. bound up with a thong, and they gave them vnto the mer- 
chants : observing that rule, that when they unloosed the first, they 
should have a good gale of wind ; when the second, a stronger 
wind ; but when they untied the third, they should have such cruel 
tempests, that they should not be able to look out of the forecastle 
to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot to pull down the sails, nor stand 
at the helm to govern the ship ; and they made an unhappy trial 
of the truth of it who denied that there was any such power in those 
knots." — Olaus Magxts's History of the Goths, Swedes, and Van- 
dals. Lond. 1658, fol. p. 47-— [See Note to The Pirate, " Sale of 
Winds," Waverley Novels, vol. xxiv. p. 136.] 

Note N. 

How whistle rash bids tempests roar. — P. 63. 

That this is a general superstition, is well known to all who have 
been on ship-board, or who have conversed with seamen. The most 
formidable whistler that I remember to have met with was the ap- 
parition of a certain Mrs. Leakey, who, about 1636, resided, we are 
told, at Mynehead, in Somerset, where her only son drove a con- 
siderable trade between that port and Waterford, and was owner 
of several vessels. This old gentlewoman -was of a social disposi- 
tion, and so acceptable to her friends, that they used to say to her 
and to each other, it were pity such an excellent good-natured old 



232 APPENDIX TO 

lady should die ; to which she was wont to reply, that whatever 
pleasure they might find in her company just now, they would not 
greatly like to see or converse with her after death, which never- 
theless she was apt to think might happen. Accordingly, after her 
death and funeral, she began to appear to various persons by night 
and by noonday, in her own house, in the town and fields, at sea 
and upon shore. So far had she departed from her former ur- 
banity, that she is recorded to have kicked a doctor of medicine 
for his impolite negligence in omitting to hand her over a stile. It 
was also her humour to appear upon the quay, and call for a boat. 
But especially so soon as any of her son's ships approached the har- 
bour, " this ghost would appear in the same garb and likeness as 
when she was alive, and, standing at the mainmast, would blow with 
a whistle, and though it were never so great a calm, yet imme- 
diately there would arise a most dreadful storm, that would break, 
wreck, and drown ship and goods." When she had thus proceeded 
until her son had neither credit to freight a vessel, nor could 
have procured men to sail it, she began to attack the persons of 
his family, and actually strangled their only child in the cradle. 
The rest of her story, showing how the spectre looked over the 
shoulder of her daughter-in-law while dressing her hair at a look- 
ing-glass, and how Mrs. Leakey the younger took courage to ad- 
dress her, and how the beldam despatched her to an Irish prelate, 
famous for his crimes and misfortunes, to exhort him to repent- 
ance, and to apprise him that otherwise he would be hanged, and 
how the bishop was satisfied with replying, that if he was born to 
be hanged, he should not be drowned; — all these, with many more 
particulars, may be found at the end of one of John Dunton's pub- 
lications, called Athenianism, London, 1710, where the tale is en- 
grossed under the title of the Apparition Evidence. 



Note O. 

The Demon Frigate.— V. 64. 

This is an allusion to a well-known nautical superstition concern- 
ing a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Flying Dutchman, and 
supposed to be seen about the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. 
She is distinguished from earthly vessels by bearing a press of sail 
when all others are unable, from stress of weather, to show an inch 
of canvass. The cause of her wandering is not altogether certain ; 
but the general account is, that she was originally a vessel loaded 
with great wealth, on board of which some horrid act of murder and 
piracy had been committed ; that the plague broke out among the 



ROKEBY. 233 

kicked crew who had perpetrated the crime, and that they sailed 
in vain from port to port, ottering, as the price of shelter, the whole 
of their ill-gotten wealth ; that they were excluded from every har- 
bour, tor fear of the contagion which was devouring them ;. and 
that, as a punishment of their crimes, the apparition of the ship 
still continues to haunt those seas in which the catastrophe took 
place, and is considered by the mariners as the worst of all possible 
omens. 

My late lamented friend, Dr. John Leyden. has introduced this 
phenomenon into his Scenes of Infancy, imputing, with poetical 
ingenuity, the dreadful judgment to the first ship which commenced 
the slave trade : — 

" Stout was the ship, from Benin's palmy shore 
That first the weight of barter d captives bore; 
Bedimm'd with blood, the sun with shrinking beams 
Beheld her bounding o'er the ocean streams ; 
But, ere the moon her silver horns had rear'd, 
Amid the crew the speckled plague appear d. 
Faint and despairing, on their watery bier, 
To every friendly shore the sailors steer ; 
Bepell'd from port to port, they sue in vain, 
And track with slow unsteady sail the main. 
Where ne'er the bright and buoyant wave is seen 
To streak with wandering foam the sea-weeds green. 
Towers the tall mast, a lone and leafless tree, 
Till self-impell'd amid the waveless sea; 
Where summer breezes ne'er were heard to sing, 
Xor hovering snow-birds spread the downy wing. 
Fix'd as a rock amid the boundless plain, 
The yellow stream pollutes the stagnant main, 
Till far through night the funeral flames aspire, 
As the red lightning smites the ghastly pyre. 

Still doom'd by fate on weltering billows roll'd, 
Along the deep their restless course to hold, 
Scenting the storm, the shadowy sailors guide 
The prow with sails opposed to wind and tide ; 
The Spectre Ship, in livid glimpsing light, 
Glares baleful on the shuddering watch at night, 
Unblest of God and man ! — Till time shall end. 
Its view strange horror to the storm shall lend." 



234 APPENDIX TO 

Note P. 
By some desert isle or key.— P. 64. 

What contributed much, to the security of the Bucaniers about 
the Windward Islands, was the great number of little islets, called 
in that country fays. These are small sandy patches, appearing 
just above the surface of the ocean, covered only with a few bushes 
and weeds, but sometimes affording springs of water, and, in gene- 
ral, much frequented by turtle. Such little uninhabited spots af- 
forded the pirates good harbours, either for refitting or for the pur- 
pose of ambush ; they were occasionally the hiding-place of their 
treasure, and often afforded a shelter to themselves. As many of 
the atrocities which they practised on their prisoners were com- 
mitted in such spots, there are some of these keys which even now 
have an indifferent reputation among seamen, and where they are 
with difficulty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, on account 
of the visionary terrors incident to places which have been thus 
contaminated. 

Note Q. 
Before the gate of MortJtam stood. — P. 68. 

The castle cf Mortham, which Leland terms " Mr. Rokesby's 
Place, in ripa titer, scant a quarter of a mile from Greta Bridge, 
and not a quarter of a mile beneath into Tees," is a picturesque 
tower, surrounded by buildings of different ages, now converted 
into a farm-house and offices. The battlements of the tower itself 
are singularly elegant, the architect having broken them at regular 
intervals into different heights ; while those at the corners of the 
tower project into octangular turrets. They are also from space to 
space covered with stones laid across them, as in modern embra- 
sures, the whole forming an uncommon and beautiful effect. The 
surrounding buildings are of a less happy form, being pointed into 
high and steep roofs. A w r all, with embrasures, encloses the south- 
ern front, where a low portal arch affords an entry to what was the 
castle-court. At some distance is most happily placed, between 
the stems of two magnificent elms, the monument alluded to in the 
text. It is said to have been brought from the ruins of Eglistone 
Priory, and, from the armoury with which it is richly carved, ap- 
pears to have been a tomb of the Fitz-Hughs. 



ROKKBY. "235 

situation oi Mortham is eminently beautiful,, occupying a 
torn of which the Greta winds out of the dark, 
narrow, anil romantic dell, which the text has attempted to de- 
scribe, and flows onward through a more open valley, to meet the 
1 1 - out a quarter of a mile from the castle. Mortham is sur- 
rounded by old trees, happily and widely grouped with Mr. Morritt's 
new plantations. 



>nOTE R. 

In his despite his guilt to teU.—P, 71. 

All who are conversant with the administration of criminal jus- 
tice, must remember many occasions in which malefactors appear 
to have conducted themselves with a species of infatuation, either 
by making unnecessary confidences respecting their guilt, or by 
sudden and involuntary allusions to circumstances by which it could 
not fail to be exposed. A remarkable instance occurred in the cele- 
brated case of Eugene Aram. A skeleton being found near Kn ares- 
borough, was supposed, by the persons who gathered around the 
spot, to be the remains .of one Clarke, who had disappeared some 
years before, under circumstances leading to a suspicion of his 
having been murdered. One Houseman, who had mingled in the 
crowd, suddenly said, while looking at the skeleton, and hearing 
the opinion which was buzzed around, " That is no more Dan 
Clarke's bone than it is mine !" — a sentiment expressed so positively, 
and with such peculiarity of manner, as to lead all who heard him 
to infer that he must necessarily know where the real body had 
been interred. Accordingly, being apprehended, he confessed 
having assisted Eugene Aram to murder Clarke, and to hide his 
body in Saint Robert's Cave. It happened to the author himself, 
while conversing with a person accused of an atrocious crime, for 
the purpose of rendering him professional assistance upon his trial, 
to hear the prisoner, after the most solemn and reiterated protes- 
tations that he was guiltless, suddenly, and, as it were, involun- 
tarily, in the course of his communications, make such an admis- 
sion as was altogether incompatible with innocence. 



236 APPENDIX TO 

Note S. 

Tlie Indian prowling for his prey. 

Now covering with the wither'd leaves 

The foot-prints that the dew receives. — P. 84. 

The patience, abstinence, and ingenuity, exerted by the North 
American Indians, when in pursuit of plunder or vengeance, is the 
most distinguished feature in their character ; and the activity and 
address which they display in their retreat is equally surprising. 
Adair, whose absurd hypothesis and turgid style do not affect the 
general authenticity of his anecdotes, has recorded an instance 
which seems incredible. 

" When the Chickasah nation was engaged in a former war with 
the Muskohge, one of their young warriors set off against them to 

revenge the blood of a near relation He went through 

the most unfrequented and thick parts of the woods, as such a dan- 
gerous enterprise required, till he arrived opposite to the great and 
old-beloved town of refuge, Koosah, which stands high on the east- 
ern side of a bold river, about 250 yards broad, that runs by the late 
dangerous Albehama-Fort, down to the black poisoning Mobille, 
and so into the Gulf of Mexico. There he concealed himself under 
cover of the top of a fallen pine-tree, in -view of the ford of the old 
trading-path, where the enemy iioav and then pass the river in their 
light poplar canoes. All his war- store of provisions consisted in 
three stands of barbicued venison, till he had an opportunity to re- 
venge blood, and return home. He waited with watchfulness and 
patience almost three days, when a young man, a woman, and a 
girl, passed a little wide of him about an hour before sunset. The 
former he shot down, tomahawked the other two, and scalped each 
of them in a trice, in full view of the town. By way of bravado, he 
shaked the scalps before them, sounding the awful death-whoop, 
and set off along the trading-path, trusting to his heels, while a 
great many of the enemy ran to their arms and gave chase. Seven 
miles from thence he entered the great blue ridge of the Apalahche 
Mountains. About an hour before day he had run over seventy 
miles of that mountainous tract ; then, after sleeping two hours in 
a sitting posture, leaning his back against a tree, he set off again 
with fresh speed. As he threAv away the venison when he found 
himself pursued by the enemy, he was obliged to support nature 
with such herbs, roots, and nuts, as his sharp eyes, with a running 
glance, directed him to snatch up in his course. Though I often 
have rode that war-path alone, when delay might have proved dan- 



ROKEBY. -oi 

gerous, and with as fine and strong horses as any in America, it 
took me five days to ride from the aforesaid Koosahto this spright- 
ly warrior's place in the Chickasah country, the distance of 300 
computed miles ; yet he ran it, and got home safe and well at about 
eleven o'clock of the third day, which was only one day and a half 
and two nights."— Adair's History of the American Indians. Lond. 
177"-- 4to. p. 395. 



Note T. 

When Rooken-edgc and Rcdswair high 

To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry. — P. 84. 

" What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit these 
valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley a Scotche 
man himself, and Bishop of Ross, will inform you. They sally out 
of their own borders in the night, in troops, through unfrequented 
by-ways and many intricate windings. All the day-time they re- 
fresh themselves and their horses in lurking holes they had pitched 
upon before, till they arrive in the dark in those places they have 
a design upon. As soon as they have seized upon the booty, they, 
in like manner, return home in the night, through blind ways, and 
fetching many a compass. The more skilful any captain is to pas^s 
through those wild deserts, crooked turnings, and deep precipices, 
in the thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked 
upon as a man of an excellent head. And they are so very cun- 
ning, that they seldom have their booty taken from them, unless 
sometimes when, by the help of blood-hounds following them ex- 
actly upon the tract, they may chance to fall into the hands of 
their adversaries. When being taken, they have so much persua- 
sive eloquence, and so many smooth insinuating words at com- 
mand, that if they do not move their judges, nay, and even their 
adversaries, (notwithstanding the severity of their natures,) to have 
mercy, yet they incite them to admiration and compassion." — 
Camde.v's Britannia. 

The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, in ancient 
times, so inordinately addicted to these depredations, that in 1564, 
the Incorporated Merchant-adventurers of Newcastle made a law 
that none born in these districts should be admitted apprentice. 
Tlie inhabitants are stated to be so generally addicted to rapine, 
that no faith should be reposed in those proceeding from " such 
lewde and wicked progenitors." This regulation continued to stand 
unrepealed until 1771. A beggar, in an old play, describes himself 
as " born in Redesdale, in Northumberland, and come of a wight- 



238 APPENDIX TO 

riding surname, called the Robsons, good honest men and true, 
saving a little shifting for their living, God help them ! "—a descrip- 
tion which would have applied to most Borderers on both sides. 

Reidswair, famed for a skirmish to which it gives name, [see 
Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 15,] is on the very edge of the Carter- 
Bell, which divides England from Scotland. The Rooken is a place 
upon Reedwater. Bertram, being described as a native of these 
dales, where the habits of hostile depredation long survived the 
union of the crowns, may have been, in some degree, prepared by 
education for the exercise of a similar trade in the wars of the 
Bucaniers. 



Note U. 

Here stood a icretch prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge. — B. 91. 

It is agreed by all the writers upon magic and witchcraft, that 
revenge was the most common motive for the pretended compact 
between Satan and his vassals. The ingenuity of Reginald Scot 
has very happily stated how such an opinion came to root itself, 
not only in the minds of the pnblic and of the judges, but even in 
that of the poor wretches themselves who were accused of sorcery, 
and were often firm believers in their own power and their own 
guilt. 

" One sort of such as are said to be witches, are women which 
be commonly old, lame, blear-eyed, pale, foul, and full of wrinkles; 
poor, sullen, superstitious, or papists, or such as know no religion ; 
in whose drowsie minds the devil hath gotten a fine seat ; so as 
what mischief, mischance, calamity, or slaughter is brought to pass, 
they are easily perswaded the same is done by themselves, im- 
printing in their minds an earnest and constant imagination there- 
of. - - - - These go from house to house, and from door to door, 
for a pot of milk, yest, drink, pottage, or some such relief, without 
the which they could hardly live ; neither obtaining for their ser- 
vice or pains, nor yet by their art, nor yet at the devil's hands, 
(with whom they are said to make a perfect and visible bargain,) 
either beauty, money, promotion, wealth, pleasure, honour, know- 
ledge, learning, or any other benefit whatsoever. 

" It falleth out many a time, that neither their necessities nor 
their expectation is answered or served in those places where they 
beg or borrow, but rather their lewdness is by their neighbours re- 
proved. And farther, in tract of time the witch waxeth odious and 
tedious to her neighbours, and they again are despised and despited 



ROKEBY. 

of her: so as sometimes she cursetli one. and sometimes another, 
and that from the master of the house, his wife, children, cattle, 
&c, to ' - that lieth inthestie. Thus, in process 

they have all displeased her, and she hath wished evil luck unto 
them all; perhaps with curses and imprecations made in form. 
Doubtless (at length) some of her neighbours die or fall sick, or 
some of their children are visited with diseases that rex them 
strangely, as apoplexies, epilepsies, convulsions, hot fevers, worms, 
Arc, which, by ignorant parents, are supposed to be the vengeance 

of witches. 

_ i witch on the other side, expecting her neighbours' mis- 
chances, and seeing things sometimes come to pass according to her 
wishes, curses, and incantations, (for Eodin himself confesses, that 
not above two in a hundred of their witchings ox wishings take 
effect, ) being called before a justice, by due examination of the 
circumstances, is driven to see her imprecations and desires, and 
her neighbours' harms and losses, to concur, and. as it were, to 
take effect ; and so confesseth that she (as a goddess) hath brought 
such things to pass. "Wherein not only she, but the accuser, and 
also the justice, are foully deceived and abused, as being, through 
her confession, and other circumstances, perswaded (to the injury 
of God's glory) that she hath done, or can do, that which is proper 
only to God himself."— Scot's Discovery of Witchcraft. Lend. 1055, 
fol. p. 4, 5, 



Note V, 



- Marauding on the clowns 



Of Calcerley and Bradford downs.—!?. 93. 

The troops of the King, when they first took the field, were as 
well disciplined as could be expected from circumstances, But as 
the circumstances of Charles became less favourable, and his funds 
for regularly paying ui s forces decreased, habits of military license 
prevailed among them in greater excess, Lacy the player, who 
served his master during the Civil War. brought out. after the Re- 
storation, a piece called the Old Troop, in which he seems to have 
commemorated some real incidents which occurred in his military 
career. The names of the officers of the Troop sufficiently express 
their habits. We have Flea-flint Plunder-Master-General, Captain 
Ferret-farm, and Quarter- Master Burn-drop. The officers of the 
Troop are in league with these worthies, and connive at their plun- 
dering the country for a suitable share in the booty. All this was 
undoubtedly drawn from the life, which Lacy had an opportunity 



240 APPENDIX TO 

to study. The moral of the whole is comprehended in a rebuke given 
to the lieutenant, whose disorders in the country are said to preju- 
dice the King's cause more than his courage in the field could re- 
compense. The piece is by no means void of farcical humour. 



Note W. 
■ our comrades strife. — P. 104. 



The laws of the Bucaniers, and their successors the Pirates, 
nowever severe and equitable, were, like other laws, often set aside 
by the stronger party. Their quarrels about the division of the spoil 
fill their history, and they as frequently arose out of mere frolic, or 
the tyrannical humour of their chiefs. An anecdote of Teach, 
(called Blackbeard,) shows that their habitual indifference for hu- 
man life extended to their companions, as well as their enemies 
and captives. 

" One night, drinking in his cabin with Hands, the pilot, and an- 
other man, Blackbeard, without any provocation, privately draws 
out a small pair of pistols, and cocks them under the table, which, 
being perceived by the man, he withdrew upon deck, leaving Hands, 
the pilot, and the captain together. When the pistols were ready, 
he blew out the candles, and, crossing his hands, discharged them 
at his company. Hands, the master, Avas shot through the knee, 
and lamed for life ; the other pistol did no execution. — Johnson's 
History of Pirates. Lond. 1724, 8vo. vol. i. p. 88. 

Another anecdote of this worthy may be also mentioned. " The 
hero of whom we are writing was thoroughly accomplished this way, 
and some of his frolics of wickedness were so extravagant, as if he 
aimed at making his men believe he was a devil incarnate ; for, 
being one day at sea, and a little flushed with drink, ' Come/ says 
he, ' let us make a hell of our own, and try how long we can bear 
it.' Accordingly, he, with two or three others, went down into the 
hold, and, closing up all the hatches, filled several pots full of 
brimstone and other combustible matter, and set it on fire, and so 
continued till they were almost suffocated, when some of the men 
cried out for air. At length he opened the hatches, not a little 
pleased that he held out the longest."— Ibid, p. 90. 



241 



XOTE X. 



my rangers go, 

Even now to track a milk-white doe."— P. h 

•• Immediately after supper, the huntsman should go to hi 
ter's chamber, and if he serve a king, then let him g©1 
jame's chamber, to know in -what quarter he d 
hunt the day following, that he may know his own quarter; that 
done, he may go to bed, to the end that he may rise the earlier in 
the morning, according to the time and season, and according to the 
place where he must hunt : then when he is up and ready, let him 
drinke a good draught, and fetch his hound, to make him breake 
his fast a little : and let him not forget to fill bis bottel with good 
wine ; that done, let him take a little vinegar into the palme of his 
hand, aud put it in the nostrils of his hound, for to make him snufiTe, 
to the end his scent may be the perfecter. then let him go to the 

wood. When the huntsman perceiveth that it is time to begin 

to beat, let him put his hound before him, and beat the ontsides of 
springs or thickets ; and if he find an hart or deer that likes him, 
let him mark well whether it be fresh or not, which he may know 
as well by the manor of his hounds drawing, as also by the eye. — 
"When he hath well considered what maner of hart it maybe, and 
hath marked every thing to judge by, then let him draw till he 
come to the couert where he is gone to : and let him harbour him 
if he can, still marking all his tokens, as well by the slot as by the 
entries, foyles, or such-like. That done, let him plash or brush 
down small twigges, some aloft and some below, as the art re- 
quireth, and therewithal!, whiiest his hound is bote, let him beat 
the outsides, and make his ring-walkes twice or thrice about the 
wood."— The Noble Art cf Venerie, or Hunting. Lend. 1611, 4to, 
pp- 7*3, 77- 



XOTE Y. 

br evermore.— Soisg. p. 



The last verse cf this song is taken from the fragment of an old 
Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the 
first edition of Rokeby vras published. Mr. Thomas Sheridan 
kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beautiful song. 
which seems to express the fortunes of some follower of the Stuart 
family : — 



242 



APPENDIX TO 

" It was a' for our rightful king 
That we left fair Scotland's strand, 
It was a' for our rightful king 
That we e'er saw Irish land, 
My dear, 
That we e'er saw Irish land. 

" Now all i= done that man can do, 
And all is done in vain ! 
My love ! my native land, adieu ! 
For I must cross the main, 
My dear, 
For I must cross the main. 

" He turn'd him round and right about, 
All on the Irish shore, 
He gave his bridle reins a shake, 
With, Adieu for evermore, 
My dear ! 
Adieu for evermore ! 

" The soldier frae the war returns, 
And the merchant frae the main, 
But I hae parted wi' my love, 
And ne'er to meet again, 

My dear, 
And ne'er to meet again. 

" When day is gone, and night is come, 

And a' are boun' to sleep, 

I think on them that's far awa 

The lee-lang night, and weep, 

My dear, 
The lee-lang night, and weep." 



Note Z. 
■ Rere-crosson Stanmore.—P. 111. 



This is a fragment of an old cross, with its pediment, surrounded 
by an intrenchment, upon the very summit of the waste ridge of 
Stanmore, near a small house of entertainment called the Spittal. 
It is called Rere-cross, or Ree-cross, of which Holinshed gives us 
the following explanation : — 



ROKEBY. 243 

" At length a peace was concluded betwixt the two kings vnder 
these conditions, that Malcolme should enjoy that part of North- 
umberland which lieth betwixt Tweed, Cumberland, and Stain- 
more, and doo homage to the Kinge of England for the same. In 
the midst of Stainmore there shall be a crosse set up, with the 
Kinge of England's image on the one side, and the Kinge of Scot- 
land s on the other, to signifie that one is march to England, and 
the other to Scotland. This crosse was called the Roi-crosse, that 
is. the cross of the Kinge."— Holixshed. Lond. 1808, 4to, v. 280. 

Holinshed's sole authority seems to have been Boethius. But it 
is not improbable that his account may be the true one, although 
the circumstance does not occur in Wintoun's Chronicle. The 
situation of the cross, and the pains taken to defend it, seem to 
indicate that it was intended for a land-mark of importance, 

XoTE 2 A, 
hast thou lodged our deer.— P. 111. 



The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first to lodge, or harbour 
the deer : i. e. to discover his retreat, as described at length in Note 
X., and then to make his report to his prince, or master : 
" Before the King I come report to make, 
Then husht and peace for noble Tristrame's sake - - - 
My liege, I went this morning on my quest, 
My hound did sticke, and seem'd to vent some beast. 
I held him short, and drawing after him, 
I might behold the hart was feeding trym ; 
His head was high, and large in each degree, 
Well paulmed eke, and seem'd full sound to be. 
Of colour browne. he beareth eight and tenne, 
Of stately height, and long he seemed then. 
flis beam seem'd great, in good proportion led, 
Well barred and round, well pearled neare his head. 
He seemed fayre tweene blacke and berrie brounde. 
He seemes well fed by all the signes I found. 
For when I had well marked him with eye, 
I stept aside, to watch where he would lye. 
And when I had so wayted full an houre, 
That he might be at layre and in his boure, 
I cast about to harbour him full sure ; 

My hound by sent did me thereof assure 

" Then if he ask what slot or view I found, 
I say the slot or view was long on ground ; 



244 APPENDIX TO 

The toes were great, the joynt bones round and short, 
The shinne bones large, the dew-claws close in port ■ 
Short ioynted was he, hollow-footed eke, 
An hart to hunt as any man can seeke." 

The Art of Venerie, ut supra, p. 97- 



Note 2 B. 

When Denmark's raven soar'd on high, 
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky.—V. 113. 

About the year of God 866, the Danes, under their celebrated 
leaders Inguar (more properly Agnar) and Hubba, sons, it is said, 
of the still more celebrated Regnar Lodbrog, invaded Northumber- 
land, bringing with them the magical standard, so often mention- 
ed in poetry, called Reafen, or Raunfan, from its bearing the 
figure of a raven : — 

" Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king, 

Of furious Ivar in a midnight hour : 

While the sick moon, at their enchanted song 

Wrapt in pale tempest, labour'd through the clouds, 

The demons of destruction then, they say, 

Were all abroad, and mixing with the woof 

Their baleful power : The sisters ever sung, 

' Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes.'" 

Thomson and Mallet's Alfred. 

The Danes renewed and extended their incursions, and began to 
colonize, establishing a kind of capital at York, from which they 
spread their conquests and incursions in every direction. Stan- 
more, which divides the mountains of Westmoreland and Cumber- 
land, was probably the boundary of the Danish kingdom in that 
direction. The district to the west, known in ancient British 
history by the name of Reged, had never been conquered by the 
Saxons, and continued to maintain a precarious independence until 
it was ceded to Malcolm, King of Scots, by William the Conque- 
ror, probably on account of its similarity in language and manners 
to the neighbouring British kingdom of Strath-Clyde. 

Upon the extent and duration of the Danish sovereignty in 
Northumberland, the curious may consult the various authorities 
quoted in the Gesta et Vestigia Danorum extra Daniam, torn. ii. 
p. 40. The most powerful of their Northumbrian leaders seems to 
have been Ivar, called, from the extent of his conquests, Widfam, 
that is, The Strider. 



245 



Note 2 C. 

Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
FLi'd on each vale a Runic name.—'P. 113. 

The heathen Danes have left several traces of their religion in the 
upper part of Teesdale. Balder-garth, which derives its name from 
the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste land on the very 
ridge of Stanmore ; and a brook, which falls into the Tees near 
Barnard Castle, is named after the same deity. A field upon the 
banks of the Tees is also termed "Woden-Croft, from the supreme 
deity of the Edda. Thorsgill, of which a description is attempted 
in stanza ii., is a beautiful little brook and dell, running up behind 
the ruins of Eglistone Abbey. Thor was the Hercules of the Scan- 
dinavian mythology, a dreadful giant-queller, and in that capacity 
the champion of the gods, and the defender of Asgard, the north- 
em Olympus, against the frequent attacks of the inhabitants of 
Jotunhem. There is an old poem in the Edda of Scemund, called 
the Song of Thrym, which turns upon the loss and recovery of the 
Mace, or Hammer, which was Thor's principal weapon, and on 
which much of his power seems to have depended. It may be read 
to great advantage in a version equally spirited and literal, among 
the Miscellaneous Translations and Poems of the Honourable Wil- 
liam Herbert. 



Note 2 D. 

Who has not heard how brave O'Xeale, 

In English blood imbrued his steel ?—¥. 118. 

The O'Xeale here meant, for more than one succeeded to the 
chieftainship during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh, the grand- 
son of Con O'Xeale, called Con Bacco, or the Lame. His father, 
Matthew O'Kelly, was illegitimate, and, being the son of a black- 
smith's wife, was usually called Matthew the Blacksmith. His 
father, nevertheless, destined his succession to him ; and he was 
created, by Elizabeth, Baron of Dungannon. Upon the death of 
Con Bacco, this Matthew was slain by his brother. Hugh nar- 
rowly escaped the same fate, and was protected by the English. 
Shane O'Xeale, his uncle, called Shane Dyrnas, was succeeded by 
Turlough Lynogh O'Xeale ; after whose death Hugh, having as- 
sumed the chieftainship, became nearly as formidable to the Eng- 
lish as any by whom it had been possessed. He rebelled repeat- 






246 APPENDIX TO 

edly, and as often made submissions, of which it was usually a con- 
dition that he should not any longer assume the title of O'Neale ; 
in lieu of which he was created Earl of Tyrone. But this condition 
he never observed longer than until the pressure of superior force 
was withdrawn. His baffling the gallant Earl of Essex in the field, 
and overreaching him in a treaty, was the induction to that noble- 
man's tragedy. Lord Mountjoy succeeded in finally subjugating 
O'Neale ; but it was not till the succession of James, to whom he 
made personal submission, and was received with civility at court. 
Yet, according to Morrison, " no respect to him could containe 
many weomen in those parts, who had lost husbands and children 
in the Irish warres, from flinging durt and stones at the earle as he 
passed, and from reuiling him with bitter words ; yea, when the 
earle had been at court, and there obtaining his majestie's direc- 
tion for his pardon and performance of all conditions promised him 
by the Lord Mountjoy, was about September to returne, hee durst 
not pass by those parts without direction to the shiriffes, to convey 
him with troopes of horse from place to place, till he was safely 
imbarked and put to sea for Ireland." — Itinerary, p. 269= 



Note 2 E. 

But chief arose his victor pride, 

When that brave Marshal/ought and died. — P. 118, 

The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the English was in 
a battle fought near Blackwater, while he besieged a fort garrisoned 
by the English, which commanded the passes into his country. 

" This captain and his few warders did with no less courage suffer 
hunger, and, having eaten the few horses they had, lived vpon 
hearbes growing in the ditches and wals, suffering all extremities, 
till the lord-lieutenant, in the moneth of August, sent Sir Henry 
Bagnal, marshall of Ireland, with the most choice companies of 
foote and horse-troopes of the English army to victual this fort, and 
to raise the rebels' siege. When the English entered the place and 
thicke woods beyond Armagh, on the east side, Tyrone (with all 
the rebels assembled to him) pricked forward with rage, enuy, and 
settled rancour against the marshall, assayled the English, and 
turning his full force against the marshall's person, had the suc- 
cesse to kill him, valiantly fighting among the thickest of the rebels. 
Whereupon the English being dismayed with his death, the rebels 
obtained a great victory against them. I terme it great, since the Eng- 
lish, from their first arriual in that kingdome, neuer had receiued 
fco great an ouerthrow as this, commonly called the Defeat of Blacke- 



ROKEUV. '2-17 

water; thirteene valiant captaines and 1500 common souldiers 
I whereof many were of the old companies which had serued in Brit- 
tany vnder General Norreys) were Blain in the field. The yielding 
of the fort of Blackewater followed this disaster, when the assault- 
( d guard saw no hope of relief ; but especially vpon messages sent 
to Captaine Williams from our broken forces, retired to Armagh, 
professing that all their safety depended vpon his yielding the fort 
: .nto the hands of Tyrone, without which danger Captaine Wil- 
liams professed that no want or miserie should have induced him 
thereunto. — Fynes Morysox's Itinerary. London. 1617, fol. part 
ti. p. U. 

Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal animosity against 
the knight-marshal, Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he accused of detain- 
ing the letters which he sent to Queen Elizabeth, explanatory of 
his conduct, and offering terms of submission. The river, called 
by the English, Blackwater, is termed in Irish, Avon-Duff, which 
lias the same signification. Both names are mentioned by Spenser 
in his •'•' Marriage of the Thames and the Medway." But I under- 
stand that his verses relate not to the Blackwater of Ulster, but to 
a river of the same name in the south of Ireland : — 

" Swift Avon-Duff, which of the Englishmen 
Is called Blackwater" 



Note 2 F. 
The Tanist he to great 0'Xeah\—V. 118. 

■• TSudox. What is that which you call Tanist and Tanistry? 
These be names and terms never heard of nor known to us. 

*'"' Ireii. It is a custom amongst all the Irish, that presently after 
the death of one of their chiefe lords or captaines. they doe pre- 
sently assemble themselves to a place generally appointed and 
knowne unto them, to choose another in his stead, where they doe 
nominate and elect, for the most part not the eldest sonne, nor any 
of the children of the lord deceased, but the next to him in blood, 
that is, the eldest and worthiest, as commonly the next brother 
unto him, if he have any, or the next cousin, or so forth, as any is 
elder in that kindred or sept ; and then next to him doe they 
choose the next of the blood to be Tanist, who shall next succeed 
him in the said captainry, if he live thereunto. 

t; Eudox. Do they not use any ceremony in this election, for all 
barbarous nations are commonly great observers of ceremonies and 
superstitious rites ? 

" Iren. They use to place him that shall be their captaine upon 



248 APPENDIX TO 

a stone, always reserved to that purpose, and placed commonly 
upon a hill. In some of which I have seen formed and engraven a 
foot, which they say was the measure of their first captaine's foot ; 
whereon hee standing, receives an oath to preserve all the auncient 
former customes of the countrey inviolable, and to deliver up the 
succession peaceable to his Tanist, and then hath a wand delivered 
unto him by some whose proper office that is ; after which, descend- 
ing from the stone, he turneth himself round, thrice forwards and 
thrice backwards. 

" Eudox. But how is the Tanist chosen ? 

" Iren. They say he setteth but one foot upon the stone, and re- 
ceiveth the like oath that the captaine did." — Spenser's View of 
the State of Ireland, apud Works, Lond. 1805, 8vo. vol. viii. p. 306. 

The Tanist, therefore, of O'Neale, was the heir-apparent of his 
power. This kind of succession appears also to have regulated, in 
very remote times, the succession to the crown of Scotland. It 
would have been imprudent, if not impossible, to have asserted a 
minor's right of succession in those stormy days, when the prin- 
ciples of policy were summed up in my friend Air. Wordsworth's 
lines : — 

" the good old rule 

Sufhceth them ; the simple plan, 
That they should take who have the power, 
And they should keep who can." 



Note 2 G. 

His plaited hair in elf-locks spread."— P. 120. 

There is here an attempt to describe the ancient Irish dress, of 
which a poet of Queen Elizabeth's day has given us the following 
particulars : — 

" I mervailde in my mynde, 

and thereupon did muse, 
To see a bride of heavenlie hewe 

an ouglie fere to chuse 
This bride it is the soile, 

the bridegroom is the karne. 
With writhed glibbes, like wicked spirits, 

with visage rough and stearne ; 
With sculles upon their poalles, 

instead of civill cappes ; 
With speares in hand, and swordes besides, 

to beare off after clappes ; 



ROKEBY. 249 

With jackettes long and large, 

which shroud simplicitie. 
Though spitfull dartes which they do beare 

importe iniquitie. 
Their shirtes be very strange, 

not reaching past the thie ; 
With pleates on pleates tbei pleated are 

as thick as pleates may lye. 
Whose sleaves hang trailing doune 

almost unto the shoe ; 
And with a mantall commonlie 

the Irisb karne do goe. 
Now some amongst the reste 

doe use another weede ; 
A coate I rneane, of strange devise, 

■which fancy first did breade. 
His skirts be very shorte, 

with pleates set thick about. 
And Irish trouzes moe to put 

their strange protactours out." 

Derrick's Image of Ireland, apud Somers' 
Tracts. Lond. 1809, 4to. vol. i. p. 585. 

Some curious wooden engravings accompany this poem, from 
which it would seem, that the ancient Irisb dress was (the bonnet 
excepted) very similar to that of the Scottish Highlanders. The 
want of a covering on the head was supplied by the mode of plait- 
ing and arranging their hair, which was called the glibbe. These 
glibbes, according to Spenser, were fit marks for a thief, since, when 
he wished to disguise himself, he could either cut it off entirely,, or 
so pull it over his eyes as to render it very hard to recognise him. 
This, however, is nothing to the reprobation with which the same 
poet regards that favourite part of the Irish dress, the mantle. 

' •' It is a fit house for an outlaw, a meet bed for a rebel, and an apt 
cloke for a thiefe. First, the outlaw being for his many crimes and 
villanyes banished from the townes and houses of honest men. and 
wandring in waste places far from danger of law, maketh his mantle 
his house, and under it covereth himself from the wrath of heaven, 
from the offence of the earth, and from the sight of men, When it 
raineth, it is his pent-house ;. when it bloweth, it is his tent : when 
it freezeth, it is his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose, 
in winter he can wrap it close ; at all times he can use it ; never 
heavy, never cumbersome. Likewise for a rebel it is as serviceable ; 
for in his warre that he maketh (if at least it deserve the name of 
warre), when he still fiyeth from Ms foe, and lurketh in the thicks 



250 



APPENDIX TO 



woods and straite passages, waiting for advantages, it is his bed, 
yea, and almost his household stuff. For the wood is his house 
against all weathers, and his mantle is his couch to sleep in. Therein 
he wrappeth himself round, and coucheth himself strongly against 
the gnats, which, in that country, doe more annoy the naked rebels 
while they keep the woods, and doe more sharply wound them, 
than all their enemies' swords or speares, which can seldom come 
nigh them : yea, and oftentimes their mantle serveth them when 
they are neere driven, being wrapped about their left arme, instead 
of a target, for it is hard to cut thorough "with a sword ; besides, it 
is light to beare, light to throw away, and being (as they commonly 
are) naked, it is to them all in all. Lastly, for a thiefe it is so hand- 
some as it may seem it was first invented for him ; for under it he 
may cleanly convey any fit pillage that cometh handsomely in his 
way. and when he goeth abroad in the night in freebooting, it is his 
best and surest friend ; for lying, as they often do, two or three 
nights together abroad to watch for their booty, with that they can 
prettily shroud themselves under a bush or bankside till they may 
conveniently do their errand ; and when all is over, he can in his 
mantle passe through any town or company, being close-hooded 
over his head, as he useth, from knowledge of any to whom he is 
indangered. Besides this, he or any man els that is disposed to 
mischief or villany, may, under his mantle, goeprivilie armed with- 
out suspicion of any, carry his head-piece, his skean, or pistol, if 
he please, to be always in readiness." — Spenser's View of the State 
of Ireland, apud JVorks, ut supra, viii. 367- 

The javelins, or darts of the Irish, which they threw with great 
dexterity, appear, from one of the prints already mentioned, to 
have been about four feet long, with a strong steel head and thick 
knotted shaft. 



Note 2 H. 

With wild majestic port and tone, 

Like envoy of some barbarous throne.— P. 121. 

The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and with 
each other, were wont to assume the language and style of inde- 
pendent royalty. Morrison has preserved a summons from Tyrone 
to a neighbouring chieftain, which runs in the following terms : — 

" O'Neale commendeth him unto you, Morish Fitz-Thomas ; 
O'Neale requesteth you, in God's name, to take part with him, and 
fight for your conscience and right ; and in so doing, O'Neale will 
epend to see you righted in all your affairs, and will help you. And 



ROKEBV. 251 

1* you conic not at O'Xcale betwixt this and to-morrow at twelve 
and take his part. O'Xeale is not beholding to you, 
and will doe to the uttermost of his power to overthrow you. if you 
c ime not to him at furthest by Satturday noone. From Knocke 
Dumayne in Calrie, the fourth of February, 1599. 

•• O'Xcale reqnesteth you to come speake with him, and doth 
giue you his word that you shall receive no harme neither in com- 
lning nor going from him, whether you be friend or not, and bring 
with you to O'Xeale Gerat Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed) " O'Xeale." 

Xor did the royalty of O'Xeale consist in words alone. Sir John 
Harrington paid Mm a visit at the time if his truce with Essex, 
and, after mentioning his ' ' fern table, and fern forms, spread under 
the stately canopy of heaven," he notices what constitutes the real 
power of every monarch, the love, namely, and allegiance of his 
subjects. " His guards, for the most part, were beardless boys 
without shirts ; who in the frost wade as familiarly through rivers 
as water-spaniels. "With what charm such a master makes them 
love him, I know not ; but if he bid come, they come ; if so, they 
do go ; if he say do this, they do it." — Nugce Antiques. Lond. 1784, 
; 1. i. p. 251. 



Note 2 I, 
His foster-father was his guide. — P. 122. 

There was no tie more sacred among the Irish than that which 
connected the foster-father, as well as the nurse herself, with the 
child they brought up. 

" Foster-fathers spend much more time, money, and affection on 
their foster-children than their own ;. and in return take from them 
clothes, money for their several professions, and arms, and, even 
for any vicious purposes, fortunes and cattle, not so much by a 
claim of right as by extortion : and they will even cany those 
things off as plunder. All who have been nursed by the same per- 
son preserve a greater mutual affection and confidence in each 
other than if they were natural brothers, whom they will even hate 
for the sake of these. When chid by their parents, they fly to their 
foster-fathers, who frequently encourage them to make open war 
on their parents, train them up to every excess of wickedness, and 
make them most abandoned miscreants; as, on the other hand. 
the nurses make the young women, whom they bring up for ererj 
excess. If a foster-child is sick, it is incredible how soon the nurses 
hear of it, however distant, and with what solicitude they attend it 



252 APPENDIX TO 

by day and night." — Giraldus Cambrensis, quoted by Camden, iv. 
368. 

This custom, like many other Irish usages, prevailed till of late 
in the Scottish Highlands, and was cherished by the chiefs as an 
easy mode of extending their influence and connexion ; and even 
in the Lowlands, during the last century, the connexion between 
the nurse and foster-child was seldom dissolved but by the death 
of one party. 



Note 2 K. 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine.— P. 126. 

Neal Naighvallach, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said to have been 
monarch of all Ireland, during the end of the fourth or beginning 
of the fifth century. He exercised a predatory warfare on the coast 
of England and of Bretagne, or Armorica ; and from the latter 
country brought off the celebrated Saint Patrick, a youth of six- 
teen, among other captives, whom he transported to Ireland. Neal 
derived his epithet from nine nations, or tribes, whom he held under 
his subjection, and from whom he took hostages. From one of 
Neal's sons were derived the Kinel-eoguin, or Race of Tyrone, 
which afforded monarchs both to Ireland and to Ulster. Neal (ac- 
cording to O'Flaherty's Ogygia) was killed by a poisoned arrow, in 
one of his descents on the coast of Bretagne. 

Note 2 L. 
Sliane-Dymaswild.—V. 126. 

This Shane-Dymas, or John the "Wanton, held the title and power 
of O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, against whom 
he rebelled repeatedly. 

" This chieftain is handed down to us as the most proud and 
profligate man on earth. He was immoderately addicted to women 
and wine. He is said to have had 200 tuns of wine at once in his 
cellar at Dandram, but usquebaugh was his favourite liquor. He 
spared neither age nor condition of the fair sex. Altho' so illite- 
rate that he could not write, he was not destitute of address ; his 
understanding was strong, and his courage daring. He had 600 
men for his guard ; 4000 foot, 1000 horse for the field. He claimed 
superiority over all the lords of Ulster, and called himself king 
thereof. When commissioners were sent to treat with him, he 



ROKEBY. 253 

I hat, tho' the Queen -were his sovereign lady, he never made 
« ith her but at her lodgings that she had made a -wise Earl 
of Macartymore, but that he kept as good a man as he ; that he 
cared not for so mean a title as Earl ; that his blood and power 
were better than the best ; that his ancestors were Kings of Ulster ; 
and that he would give place to none.' His kinsman, the Earl of 
Kildare. having persuaded him of the folly of contending with the 
crown of England, he resolved to attend the Queen, but in a style 
suited to his princely dignity. He appeared in London with a mag- 
nificent tfain of Irish Galloglasses. arrayed in the richest habili- 
ments of their country, their heads bare, their hair flowing on theii 
shoulders. with their long and open sleeves dyed with saffron. 
Thus dressed, and surcharged with military harness, and armed 
with battle-axes, they afforded an astonishing spectacle to the citi- 
zens, who regarded them as the intruders of some very distant 
part of the globe. But at Court his versatility now prevailed ; his 
title to the sovereignty of Tyrone was pleaded from English laws 
and Irish institutions, and his allegations were so specious, that 
the Queen dismissed him with presents and assurances of favour. 
In England this transaction was looked on as the humiliation of a 
repenting rebel : in Tyrone it was considered as a treaty of peace 
between two potentates." — Camden's Britannia, by G-ough. Lond. 
fol. vol. iv. p. 442. 
When reduced to extremity by the English, and forsaken by his 
allies, this Shane-Dymas fled to Clandeboy, then occupied bv a co- 
lony of Scottish Highlanders of the family of MacDoneH He was 
at first courteously received ; but by degrees they began to quarrel 
about the slaughter of some of their friends whom Shane-Dymas 
had put to death, and advancing from words to deeds, fell upon 
him with their broadswords, and cut him to pieces. After his death 
a law was made that none should presume to take the name and 
title of O'Xeale. 



Note 2 M. 
G&raldim.—V. 126. 



The O'Xeales were closely allied with this powerful and warlike 
family : for Henry Owen O'Xeale married the daughter of Thomas 
Earl of Kildare, and their son Con-More married his cousin-ger- 
man, a daughter of Gerald Earl of Kildare. This Con-More cursed 
any of his posterity who should learn the English language, sow 
corn, or build houses, so as to invite the English to settle in their 
country. Others ascribe this anathema to his son Con-Bacco. 



254 APPENDIX TO 

Fearflatha O'Gnive, bard to the O'Neales of Clannaboy, complains 
in the same spirit of the towers and ramparts with which the stran- 
gers had disfigured the fair sporting fields of Erin.— See Walker's 
Irish Bards, p. 140. 



Note 2 N. 

■ his page, the next degree 

In that old time to chivalry. — P. 127- 

Originally, the order of chivalry embraced three ranks : — 1, The 
Page ; 2. The Squire ; 3. The Knight ; — a gradation which seems to 
have been imitated in the mystery of Freemasonry. But, before the 
reign of Charles I., the custom of serving as a squire had fallen into 
disuse, though the order of the page was still, to a certain degree, 
in observance. This state of servitude was so far from inferring 
any thing degrading, that it was considered as the regular school 
for acquiring every quality necessary for future distinction. The 
proper nature, and the decay of the institution, are pointed out by 
old Ben Jonson, with his own forcible moral colouring. The dia- 
logue occurs between Lovell, " a compleat gentleman, a soldier, 
and a scholar, known to haye been page to the old Lord Beaufort, 
and so to have followed him in the French wars, after companion of 
his studies, and left guardian to his son," and the facetious Good- 
stock, host of the Light Heart. 

[See Ben Jonson's Neiv Inn, Act I. Scene III.] 



Note 2 O. 

Rokeby' s lords of martial fame, 

I can count them name by name.—V. 151. 

A brief pedigree of this very ancient and once powerful family, 
was kindly supplied to the author by Mr. Rokeby of Northamp- 
tonshire, descended of the ancient Barons of Rokeby. — [See it in 
Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works, vol. ix. pp. 328-9.] 

The family of De Rokeby came over with the Conqueror. 

The old motto belonging to the family is In Bivio Beoctra. 

The arms, argent, chevron sable, between three rooks proper. 

There is somewhat more to be found in our family in the Scottish 
History about the affairs of Dun-Bretton town, but what it is, and 
in what time, I know not, nor can have convenient leisure to 
search. But Parson Blackwood, the Scottish chaplain to the Lord 



of Shrewsbury, recited to me once a piece of a Scottish song, where- 
in was mentioned, that William Wallis, the great deliverer of the 
Scots from the English bondage, should, at Dun-Bretton, have been 
brought up under a Rokeby, captain then of that place ; and as he 
walked on a cliff, should thrust him on a sudden into the sea, and 
thereby have gotten that hold, which, I tbink, was about the 33d 
of Edw. I. or before. Thus, leaving our ancestors of record, we must 
also with them leave the Chronicle of Malmesbury Abbey, called 
Eulogium Historiarum, out of which Mr. Leland reporteth this 
history, and coppy down unwritten story, the which have yet the 
testimony of later times, and the fresh memory of men yet alive, 
for their warrant and creditt, of whom I have learned it, that in 
K. Henry the 7th's reign, one Ralph Rokeby, Esq. was owner of 
Morton, and I guess that this was he that deceived the fryars of 
Richmond with his felon swine, on which a jargon was made. 

The above is a quotation from a manuscript written by Ralph 
Rokeby : when he lived is uncertain. 

To what metrical Scottish tradition Parson Blackwood alluded, 
it would be now in vain to enquire. But in Blind Harry's History 
of Sir William Wallace, we find a legend of one Rukbie, whom he 
makes keeper of Stirling Castle under the English usurpation, and 
whom Wallace slays with his own hand : — 

" In the great press Wallace and Rukbie met, 
With his good sword a stroke upon him set ; 
Derfly to death the old Rukbie he drave, 
But his two sons escaped among the lave." 

These sons, according to the romantic Minstrel, surrendered the 
castle on conditions, and went back to England, but returned to 
Scotland in the days of Bruce, when one of them became again 
keeper of Stirling Castle. Immediately after this achievement fol- 
lows another engagement, between Wallace and those Western 
Highlanders who embraced the English interest, at a pass in Glen- 
donchart, where many were precipitated into the lake over a pre- 
cipice. These circumstances may have been confused in the narra- 
tive of Parson Blackwood, or in the recollection of Mr. Rokeby. 

In the old ballad of Chevy Chase, there is mentioned, among the 
English warriors, " Sir Raff the ryche Rugbe," which may apply 
to Sir Ralph Rokeby, the tenth baron in the pedigree. The more 
modern copy of the ballad runs thus : — 

" Good Sir Ralph Raby ther was slain, 

Whose prowess did surmount." 

This would rather seem to relate to one of the Nevilles of Raby, 
But. as the whole ballad is romantic, accuracy is not to be looke'd 
for. 



256 APPENDIX TO 

Note 2 P. 
The Felon Sow.— P. 151. 



The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a serious strain of 
romance ; and although the examples of the latter are by far the 
most numerous, they are, perhaps, the less valuable. The comic 
romance -was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel 
poetry. If the latter described deeds of heroic achievement, and 
the events of the battle, the tourney and the chase, the former, as 
in the Tournament of Tottenham, introduced a set of clowns de- 
bating in the field, with all the assumed circumstances of chivalry ; 
or, as in the Hunting of the Hare (see "Weber's Metrical Romances, 
vol. hi.), persons of the same description following the chase, with 
all the grievous mistakes and blunders incident to such unpractised 
sportsmen. The idea, therefore, of Don Quixote's frenzy, although 
inimitably embodied and brought out, was not, 'perhaps, in the ab- 
stract, altogether original. One of the very best of these mock 
romances, and which has no small portion of comic humour, is the 
Hunting of the Felon Sow of Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond. 
Ralph Rokeby, who (for the jest's sake apparently) bestowed this 
intractable animal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have 
flourished in the time of Henry VII. , which, since we know not 
the date of Friar Theobald's Wardenship, to which the poem refers 
us, may indicate that of the composition itself. Morton, the Mor- 
tham of the text, is mentioned as being this facetious baron's place 
of residence ; accordingly, Leland notices, that " Mr. Rokeby hath 
a place called Mortham, a little beneath Gretney-bridge, almost 
on the mouth of Gretney." That no information may be lacking 
which is in my power to supply, I have to notice, that the Mistress 
Rokeby of the romance, who so charitably refreshed the sow after 
she had discomfited Friar Middleton and his auxiliaries, was, as 
appears from the pedigree of the Rokeby family, daughter and heir 
of Danby of Yafforth. 

This curious poem was first published in Mr. Wliittaker's History 
of Craven, but, from an inaccurate manuscript, not corrected very 
happily. It was transferred by Mr. Evans to the new edition of his 
Ballads, with some well-judged conjectural improvements. — [See 
a copy of it in Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works, vol. ix. pp. 
332—3.39.] 



Note 2 Q. 
T'.c FOea ofO'Neale wt i he.— P. 152. 

The Filea, or Oilamh Re Dan, was the proper bard. or 3 

name literally implies, poet. Each cliiefrain of distinction had 
or more in his £ . -ually hereditary, 
late ingenious Mr. Cooper Wa] ions 

tion of particulars concerning this order of men, in his Historical 
Memoirs-: Bards. There were itinei f less 

elevated rank, but all -were held in the highest venerat: in. The 
English, who considered them as chief supporters of the spirit of 
national independence, were :. ibe this race 

of poets, as Edward I. is said to have done in Wales. 
while he admits the merit of their wild poetry, as " savouring of 
et wit and good invention, andsprir.k. 2 iwith some prettyflowe . - 
of their natural d . . appli- 

cation rfthc -wickedness and 

vice." The household minstrel was a ren to the feast oi 

the prince whom he serv. able. It was one of 

the customs of which Sir Richard Sewry. to wh ise charge Richard 
II. committed the . monarchs in the ch hk- 

o of the period, found it m «ak his royal dis- 

.'.'_ les. though he had also much ado t :• Bubj : them to other Eng- 
lish rules, and particularly to breeches 
•'•' The kyr._ 1 L's a i th at in rnaner, coun- 
tenaunce,. andappareil of clothyng, they sholde use according to 
the maner of Englande, for the kynge thought to make them all 
four h. jyhad fayre house to lo ige in. in Duvelyn. an d 
I vras char. . styll with them, and not to departe ; 
ao two or three dayes I suffered them to do as they lyst. and sayde 

nothyngl wed. then le appetytes: theyw< lde 

sytte at the table,, and make countenance nother good nor fayre. 

I th oght I shulde :..-.>■. them I 1 e laui j€ their maner: Hit 
wolde cat:-- their mynstrells. their seruantes. and varieties to sytte 
with them, and to eate in their own dyssche, and to drink : : the 
cuppes ; and they sht re i me that the osage of theii cuntrewas 
good, for they sayd in all thynga except their beddes) they were 
: □ I lyved as eomen. So the fourth e day 1 1 iayned otl . ta . - 
to be couered in the hah. aftei the osage of Englande. and I made 
these four knyghtes to sytte at the hyghe table, and there mynstrels 
at another borde. and their seruantes and varieties at another by- 
neth them, wherof by semynge they were displeased; and beheld 
B 



258 APPENDIX TO 

each other, and wolde not eate, and sayde, how I wolde take fro 
them their good usage, wherin they had been norished. Then I 
answered them, smyling, to apeace them, that it was not honour- 
able for their estates to do as they dyde before, and that they must 
leave it, and use the custom of Englande, and that it was the kynge's 
pleasure they shulde so do, and how he was charged so to order 
them. When they harde that, they suffred it, bycause they had 
putte themselfe under the obeysance of the Kynge of Englande, and 
parceuered in the same as long as I was with them ; yet they had 
one use which I knew was well used in their cuntre, and that was, 
they dyde were no breches ; I caused breches of lynen clothe to be 
made for them. Whyle I was with them I caused them to leaue 
many rude thynges, as well in clothyng as in other causes. Moche 
ado I had at the fyrst to cause them to weare gownes of sylke, fur- 
red with myneuere and gray ; for before these kynges thought them- 
selfe well apparelled when they had on a mantell. They rode al- 
wayes without saddles and styropes, and with great payne I made 
them to ride after our usage."— Lord Berners' Froissart. Lond. 
1812, 4to. vol. ii. p. 621. 

The influence of these bards upon their patrons, and their ad- 
mitted title to interfere in matters of the weightiest concern, may 
be also proved from the behaviour of one of them at an interview 
between Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl of Ki] dare, then about 
to renounce the English allegiance, and the Lord Chancellor Cromer, 
who made a long and goodly oration to dissuade him from his pur- 
pose. The young lord had come to the council " armed and wea- 
poned," and attended by seven score horsemen in their shirts of 
mail ; and we are assured that the chancellor, having set forth his 
oration " with such a lamentable action as his cheekes were all be- 
blubbered with teares, the horsemen, namelie, such as understood 
not English, began to diuine what the lord-chancellor meant with 
all this long circumstance ; some of them reporting that he was 
preaching a sermon, others said that he stood making of some he- 
roicall poetry in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus as every 
idiot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chancellor his discourse, who 
in effect had nought else but drop pretious stones before hogs, one 
Bard de Nelan, an Irish rithmour, and a rotten sheepe to infect a 
whole flocke, was chatting of Irish verses, as though his toong had 
run on pattens, in commendation of the Lord Thomas, investing 
him with the title of Silken Thomas, bicause his horsemens jacks 
were gorgeously imbrodered with silke : and in the end he told 
him that he lingered there ouer long ; whereat the Lord Thomas 
being quickened," as Hollinshed expresses it, bid defiance to the 
chancellor, threw down contemptuously the sword of office, which, 
in his father's absence, he held as deputy, and rushed forth to en- 
gage in open insurrection. 



259 



Note 2 R. 

j4h, Clandeboy! thy friendly floor 
Slkve-DonanVs oak shall light no more.— P. 152. 

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the sept 
of the O'Xeales, and Slieve-Donard, a romantic mountain in the 
same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great rebel- 
lion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The ancient Irish, 
wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not yield even to their 
descendants in practising the most free and extended hospitality ; 
and doubtless the bards mourned the decay of the mansion of their 
chiefs in strains similar to the verses of the British Llywarch Hen 
on a similar occasion, which are affecting, even through the discou- 
raging medium of a literal translation. — [See Poetical Works, vol. 
ix7pp. 342-344.] 



Note 2 S. 

MacCurtin's harp - .—P. 157. 

<; MacCurtin, hereditary Ollamh of North Munster. and Filea to 
Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of Munster. This noble- 
man was amongst those who were prevailed upon to join Elizabeth's 
forces. Soon as it was known that he had basely abandoned the 
interests of his country, MacCurtin presented an adulatory poem 
to MacCarthy, chief of South Munster, and of the Eugenian line, 
who, with O'Xeil, O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were deeply en- 
gaged in protecting their violated country. In this poem he dwells 
with rapture on the courage and patriotism of MacCarthy : but the 
verse that should (according to an established law of the order of 
the bards) be introduced in the praise of O'Brien, he turns into 
severe satire : — ' How am I afflicted (says he) that the descendant 
of the great Brion Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme wor- 
thy the honour and glory of his exalted race !' Lord Thomond, 
hearing this, vowed vengeance on the spirited bard, who fled for 
refuge to the county of Cork. One day, observing the exasperated 
nobleman and his equipage at a small distance, he thought it was 
in vain to fly, and pretended to be suddenly seized with the pangs 
of death ; directing his wife to lament over him. and tell his lord- 
ship, that the sight of him, by awakening the sense of his ingrati- 
tude, had so much affected him that he could not support it ; and 
desired her at the same time to tell his lordship, that he entreated, 



260 APPENDIX TO 

as a dying request, his forgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond ar- 
rived, the feigned tale was related to him. That nobleman was 
moved to compassion, and not only declared that he most heartily 
forgave him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair mourner 
with some pieces to inter him. This instance of his lordship's pity 
and generosity gave courage to the trembling bard ; who, suddenly 
springing up, recited an extemporaneous ode in praise of Donough, 
and, re-entering into his service, became once more his favourite." 
—Walker's Memoirs of the Irish Bards. Lond. 1786, 4to, p. 141. 



Note 2 T. 
Littlecote Hall.— Pp. 169-70. 

The tradition from which the ballad is founded was supplied 
by a friend, (the late Lord Webb Seymour,) whose account I will 
not do the injustice to abridge, as it contains an admirable picture 
of an old English hall : — 

" Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely situation. On 
three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads over the adjoin- 
ing hill ; on the fourth, by meadows which are watered by the 
river Kennet. Close on one side of the house is a thick grove of 
lofty trees, along the verge of which runs one of the principal 
avenues to it through the park. It is an irregular building of 
great antiquity, and Avas probably erected about the time of the 
termination of feudal warfare, when defence came no longer to be 
an object in a country mansion. Many circumstances, however, 
in the interior of the house, seem appropriate to feudal times. The 
hall is very spacious, floored with stones, and lighted by large tran- 
som windows, that are clothed with casements. Its walls are hung 
with old military accoutrements, that have long been left a prey 
to rust. At one end of the hall is a range of coats of mail and hel- 
mets, and there is on every side abundance of old-fashioned pistols 
and guns, many of them with matchlocks. Immediately below 
the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made in the form of a 
shirt, supposed to have been worn as armour by the vassals. A 
large oak table, reaching nearly from one end of the room to the 
other, might have feasted the whole neighbourhood, and an ap- 
pendage to one end of it made it answer at other times for the 
old game of shuffleboard. The rest of the furniture is in a suitable 
style, particularly an arm-chair of cumbrous workmanship, con- 
structed of wood, curiously turned, with a high back and triangu- 
lar seat, said to have been used by Judge Popham in the reign of 
Elizabeth. The entrance into the hall is at one end, by a low door, 



R.OKEBY. 261 

communicating with a passage that leads from the outer door in 
the front of the house to a quadrangle 1 within ; at the other, it 
opens upon a gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the first 
floor, and, passing the doors of some bedchambers, enter a narrow 
gallery, which extends along the back front of the house from one 
end to the other of it, and looks upon an old garden. This gallery 
is hung with portraits, chiefly in the Spanish dresses of the six- 
teenth century. In one of the bedchambers, which you pass in 
going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue furniture, which 
time has now made dingy and threadbare, and in the bottom of 
one of the bed curtains you are shown a place where a small piece 
has been cut out and seAvn in again, — a circumstance which serves 
to identify the scene of the following story : — 

" It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November, that 
an old midwife sat musing by her cottage fire-side, when on a sud- 
den she was startled by a loud knocking at the door. On opening 
it she found a horseman, who told her that her assistance was re- 
quired immediately by a person of rank, and that she should be 
handsomely rewarded ; but that there were reasons for keeping the 
affair a strict secret, and, therefore, she must submit to be blind- 
folded, and to be conducted in that condition to the bedchamber 
of the lady. With some hesitation the midwife consented ; the 
horseman bound her eyes, and placed her on a pillion behind him. 
After proceeding in silence for many miles through rough and dirty 
lanes, they stopped, and the midwife was led into a house, which, 
from the length of her walk through the apartments, as well as the 
sounds about her, she discovered to be the seat of wealth and 
power. "When the bandage was removed from her eyes, she found 
herself in a bedchamber, in which were the lady on whose account 
she had been sent for, and a man of a haughty and ferocious as- 
pect. The lady was delivered of a fine boy. Immediately the man 
commanded the midwife to give him the child, and, catching it 
from her, he hurried across the room, and threw it on the back of 
the fire, that was blazing in the chimney. The child, however, 
was strong, and by its struggles rolled itself upon the hearth, when 
the ruffian again seized it with fury, and, in spite of the interces- 
sion of the midwife, and the more piteous entreaties of the mother, 
thrust it under the grate, and raking the live coals upon it, soon 
put an end to its life. The midwife, after spending some time in 
affording all the relief in her power to the wretched mother, was. 
told that she must be gone. Her former conductor appeared, who 
again bound her eyes, and conveyed her behind him to her own 
home : he then paid her handsomely, and departed. The midwife 

J I think there is a chapel on one side of it, but am not quite sure 



26*2 APPENDIX TO 

was strongly agitated by the horrors of the preceding night ; and 
she immediately made a deposition of the facts before a magistrate. 
Two circumstances afforded hopes of detecting the house in which 
the crime had been committed ; one was, that the midwife, as she 
sat by the bedside, had, with a view to discover the place, cut out 
a piece of the bed curtain, and sewn it in again ; the other was, 
that as she had descended the staircase she had counted the steps. 
Some suspicions fell upon one Darrell, at that time the proprietor 
of Littlecote-House, and the domain around it. The house was 
examined, and identified by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at 
Salisbury for the murder. By corrupting his judge, he escaped 
the sentence of the law ; but broke his neck by a fall from his 
horse in hunting, in a few months after. The place where this 
happened is still known by the name of DarreH's Style, — a spot to 
be dreaded by the peasant whom the shades of evening have over- 
taken on his way. 

" Littlecote-House is two miles from Hungerford, in Berkshire, 
through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred in the 
reign of Elizabeth. All the important circumstances I have given 
exactly as they are told in the country ; some trifles only are add- 
ed, either to render the whole connected, or to increase the im- 
pression." 

To Lord Webb's edition of this singular story the author can 
now add the following account, extracted from Aubrey's Corres- 
pondence. It occurs among other particulars respecting Sir John 
Popham : — 

" Sir Dayrell, of Littlecote, in Corn. Wilts, having gott his 

lady's waiting-woman with child, when her travell came, sent a 
servant with a horse for a midwife, whom he was to bring hood- 
winked. She was brought, and layd the woman, but as soon as the 
child was born, she sawe the knight take the child and murther it, 
and burn it in the fire in the chamber. She having done her busi- 
nesse, was extraordinarily rewarded for herpaines, and sent blind- 
folded away. This horrid action did much run in her mind, and 
she had a desire to discover it, but knew not where 'twas. She 
considered with herself the time that she was riding, and how many 
miles she might have rode at that rate in that time, and that it 
must be some great person's house, for the room was 12 foot high ; 
and she should know the chamber if she sawe it. She went to a 
Justice of Peace, and search was made. The very chamber found. 
The Knight was brought to his tryall; and to be short, this judge 
had this noble house, parke and manner, and (I thinke) more, for 
a bribe to save his life. 

" Sir John Popham gave sentence according to lawe, but being 
a great person, and a favourite, he procured a noli prosequi." 



With this tale of terror the author has combined some circum- 
stances of a similar legend, -which was current at Edinburgh during 

his childhood. 

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the large 
castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded hotels, like 
those of the French noblesse, which they possessed in Edinburgh, 
were sometimes the scenes of strange and mysterious transactions, 
a divine of singular sanctity was called up at midnight to pray with 
a person at the point of death. This was no unusual summons ; 
but what followed was alarming : He was put into a sedan-chair, 
and after he had been transported to a remote part of the town, 
the bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded. The request was 
enforced by a cocked pistol, and submitted to : but in the course 
of the discussion, he conjectured, from the phrases employed by 
the chairmen, and from some part of their dress,, not completely 
concealed by their cloaks, that they were greatly above the menial 
station they had assumed. After many turns and windings, the 
chair was carried up stairs into a lodging, where his eyes were un- 
covered, and he was introduced into a bedroom, where he found a 
lady, newly delivered of an infant. He was commanded by his 
attendants to say such prayers by her bedside as were fitting for a 
person not expected to survive a mortal disorder. He ventured to 
remonstrate, and observe, that her safe delivery warranted better 
hopes. But he was sternly commanded to obey the orders first 
given, and with difficulty recollected himself sufficiently to acquit 
himself of the task imposed on him. He was then again hurried 
into the chair ; but as they conducted him down stairs, lie heard 
the report of a pistol. He was safely conducted home ; a purse of 
gold was forced upon him : but he was warned, at the same time, 
that the least allusion to this dark transaction would cost him his 
life. He betook himself to rest, and, after long and broken mu- 
sing, fell into a deep sleep. From this he was awakened by Ms- 
servant, with the dismal news that a fire of uncommon fury had 
broken out in the house of * * * *, near thehead of the Canongate, 
and that it was totally consumed ; with the shocking addition, that 
the daughter of the proprietor, a young lady eminent for beauty 
and accomplishments, had perished in the flames. The clergyman 
had his suspicions, but to have made them public would have 
availed nothing. He was timid : the family was of the first dis- 
tinction ; above all, the deed was done, and could not be amended. 
Time wore away, however, and with it his terrors. He became 
unhappy at being the solitary depositary of this fearful mystery, 
and mentioned it to some of his brethren, through whom the anec- 
dote acquired a sort of publicity. The divine, however, had been 
long dead, and the story in some degree forgotten, when a fire 



264 APPENDIX TO 

broke out again on the very same spot where the house of * * * * had 
formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of an in- 
ferior description. When the flames were at their height, the tu- 
mult, which usually attends such a scene, was suddenly suspended 
by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful female, in a night-dress, 
extremely rich, but at least half a century old, appeared in the very 
midst of the fire, and uttered these tremendous words in her verna- 
cular idiom : " Anes burned, twice burned ; the third time I'll 
scare you all !" The belief in this story was formerly so strong, 
that on a fire breaking out, and seeming to approach the fatal spot, 
there was a good deal of anxiety testified,, lest the apparition should 
make good her denunciation. 



Note 2 U. 

As thick a smoke these hearths have given, 
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.— P '. 175. 

Such an exhortation was, in similar circumstances, actually given 
to his followers by a Welsh chieftain : — 

" Enmity did continue betweene Howell ap Rys ap Howell 
Vaughan and the sonnes of John ap Meredith. After the death 
of Evan ap Robert, Griffith ap Gronw (cosen-german to John ap 
Meredith's sonnes of Gwynfryn, who had long served in France, 
and had charge there) comeing home to live in the countrey, it 
happened that a servant of his, comeing to fish in Stymllyn, his fish 
was taken away, and the fellow beaten by Howell ap Rys his ser- 
vants, and by his commandment. Griffith ap John ap Gronw took 
the matter in such dudgeon that he challenged Howell ap Rys to 
the field, which he refusing, assembling his cosins John ap Mere- 
dith's sonnes and his friends together, assaulted Howell in his own 
house, after the maner he had scene in the French warres, and 
consumed with fire his barnes and his out-houses. Whilst he was 
thus assaulting the hall, which Howel ap Rys and many other 
people kept, being a very strong house, he was shot, out of a cre- 
vice of the house, through the sight of his beaver into the head, 
and slayne outright, being otherwise armed at all points. Not- 
withstanding his death, the assault of the house was continued with 
great vehemence, the doores fired with great burthens of straw; 
besides this, the smoake of the out-houses and barnes not farre 
distant annoyed greatly the defendants, for that most of -them lay 
under boordes and benches upon the floore, in the hall, the better 
to avoyd the smoake. During this scene of confusion onely the 
old man, Howell ap Rys, never stooped, but stood valiantly in the 



ROKEBY. 265 

middest of the fioore, armed with a gleve in his hand, and called 
unto them, and bid ' them arise like men. for shame, for he had 
knowne there as great a smoake in that hall upon Christmas-even.' 
In the end, seeing the house could noe longer defend them being 
overlayed with a multitude, upon parley betweene them, Howell 
ap Rys was content to yeald himself prisoner to Morris ap John ap 
Meredith, John ap Meredith's eldest sonne, soe as he would swear 
unto him to bring him safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide the triall 
of the law for the death of Graff' ap John ap Gronw, who was 
cosen-german removed to the said Howell ap Rys, and of the very 
same house he was of. "Which Morris ap John ap Meredith un- 
dertaking, did put a guard about the said Howell of his trustiest 
friends and servants, who kept and defended him from the rage of 
his kindred, and especially of Owen ap John ap Meredith, his bro- 
ther, who was very eager against him. They passed by leisure 
thence like a campe to Carnarvon : the whole countrie being as- 
sembled, Howell his friends posted a horseback from one place or 
other by the way, who brought word that he was come thither safe, 
for they were in great fear lest he should be murthered, and that 
Morris ap John ap Meredith could not be able to defend him, nei- 
ther durst any of Howell's friends be there, for fear of the kindred. 
In the end, being delivered by Morris ap John ap Meredith to the 
constable of Carnarvon Castle, and there kept safely in ward untill 
the assises, it fell out by law, that the burning of Howell's houses, 
and assaulting him in his owne house, was a more haynous offence 
in Morris ap John ap Meredith, and the rest, than the death of 
Graff' ap John ap Gronw in Howell, who did it in his own defence : 
"whereupon Morris ap John ap Meredith, with thirty-five more, 
were indicted of felony, as appeareth by the copie of the indict- 
ment, which I had from the records." — Sir Johx Wynne's His- 
tory of the Gwydir Family. Loud. 1770, 8vo. p. 116. 



Xote 2 V. 
O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove. — P. 201. 

This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers is 
mentioned in the interesting Life of Bernard Gilpin, where some 
account is given of these wild districts, which it was the custom of 
that excellent man regularly to visit. 

" This custom (of duels) still prevailed on the Borders, where 
Saxon barbarism held its latest possession. These wild Northum- 
brians, indeed, went beyond the ferocity of their ancestors. They 
were not content with a duel ; each contending party used to mus- 



266 APPENDIX TO 

ter what adherents he could, and commence a kind of petty war. 
So that a private grudge would often occasion much bloodshed. 

" It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot when Mr. 
Gilpin was at Rothbury, in those parts. During the two or three 
first days of his preaching, the contending parties observed some 
decorum, and never appeared at church together. At length, 
however, they met. One party had been early at church, and just 
as Mr. Gilpin began his sermon the other entered. They stood not 
long silent. Inflamed at the sight of each other, they began to 
clash their weapons, for they were all armed with javelins and 
swords, and mutually approached. Awed, however, by the sacred- 
ness of the place, the tumult in some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin 
proceeded : when again the combatants began to brandish their 
weapons, and draw towards each other. As a fray seemed near, 
Mr. Gilpin stepped from the pulpit, went between them, and ad- 
dressed the leaders, put an end to the quarrel for the present, but 
could not effect an entire reconciliation. They promised him, how- 
ever, that till the sermon was over they would make no more dis- 
turbance. He then went again into the puljrit, and spent the rest 
of the time in endeavouring to make them ashamed of what they 
had done. His behaviour and discourse affected them so much, 
that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts of 
hostility while he continued in the country. And so much respect- 
ed was he among them, that whoever was in fear of his enemy 
used to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his presence the 
best protection. 

' ' One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts, before 
the people were assembled, he observed a glove hanging up, and 
was informed by the sexton, that it was meant as a challenge to 
any one who should take it down. Mr. Gilpin ordered the sexton 
to reach it him ; but upon his utterly refusing to touch it, he took 
it down himself, and put it into his breast. When the people were 
assembled, he went into the pulpit, and, before he concluded his 
sermon, took occasion to rebuke them severely for these inhuman 
challenges. " I hear,' said he, ' that one among you hath hanged 
up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one 
who taketh it down : see, I have taken it down ; ' and, pulling out 
the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed them 
how unsuitable such savage practices were to the profession of 
Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love as he thought 
would most affect them."— Life of Bernard Gilpin. Lond. 1753, 
8vo. p. 177- 



267 



Note 2 W. 
A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed.— P. 212. 

This, and what follows is taken from a real achievement of 
Major Robert Philipson, called, from his desperate and adventu- 
rous courage, Robin the Devil ; which, as being very inaceurately 
noticed in this note upon the first edition, shall be now given in a 
more authentic form. The chief place of his retreat was not Lord's 
Island, in Derwentwater, but Curwen's Island, in the Lake of 
Windermere. — 

" This island formerly belonged to the Philip sons, a family of 
note in "Westmoreland. During the Civil Wars, two of them, an 
elder and a younger brother, served the King. The former, who 
was the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment ; the latter was a 
major. 

" The major, whose name was Robert, was a man of great spirit 
and enterprise ; and for his many feats of personal bravery had ob- 
tained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the appellation of Robin 
the Devil. 

" After the war had subsided, and the direful effects of public 
opposition had ceased, revenge and malice long kept alive the ani- 
mosity of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a steady friend to usurpa- 
tion, resided at this time at Kendal, and, under the double cha- 
racter of a leading magistrate (for he was a Justice-of-Peace) and 
an active commander, held the country in awe. This person having 
heard that Major Philipson was at his brother's house on the island 
in Windermere, resolved, if possible, to seize and punish a man 
who had made himself so particularly obnoxious. How it was con- 
ducted, my authority 1 does not inform us — whether he got together 
the navigation of the lake, and blockaded the place by sea, or whe- 
ther he landed and carried on his approaches in form. Neither do 
we learn the strength of the garrison within, nor of the works with- 
out. All we learn is, that Major Philipson endured a siege of eight 
months with great gallantry, till his brother, the Colonel, raised a 
party and relieved him. 

" It was now the Major's turn to make reprisals. He put him- 
self, therefore, at the head of a little troop of horse, and rode to 
Kendal. Here, being informed that Colonel Briggs was at prayers, 
(for it was on a Sunday morning,) he stationed his men properly 



Dr. Burns' s History of 'Westmoreland. 



268 APPENDIX TO ROKEBY. 

in the avenues, and himself armed, rode directly irjto the church. 
It probably was not a regular church, but some large place of meet- 
ing. It is said he intended to seize the Colonel and carry him off; 
but as this seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather 
probable that his intention was to kill him on the spot, and in the 
midst of the confusion to escape. Whatever his intention was, it 
was frustrated, for Briggs happened to be elsewhere. 

" The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into great 
confusion on seeing an armed man on horseback make his appear- 
ance among them ; and the Major, taking advantage of their asto- 
nishment, turned his round, and rode quietly out. But having 
given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as he left the assembly, 
and being seized, his girths were cut, and he was unhorsed. 

" At this instant his party made a furious attack on the assail- 
ants, and the Major killed with his own hand the man who had 
seized him, clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon his horse, 
and, vaulting into it, rode full speed through the streets of Kendal, 
calling his men to follow him ; and, with his whole party, made a 
safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. The action marked the man. 
Many knew him : and they who did not, knew as well from the ex- 
ploit that it could be nobody but Robin the Devil." 



END OF NOTES TO ROKEBY. 



THE 



VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



Quid dignum memorare tuts, Hispania, terris, 
Vox fiumana valet ! — Claudian. 



I 271 ] 



PREFACE 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 



The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradi- 
tion, particularly detailed in the Notes ; but bearing, in 
general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of 
Spain, when the Invasion of the Moors was impending, 
had the temerity to descend into an ancient vault, near 
Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced as 
fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that 
his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical re- 
presentation of those Saracens who, in the year 714, de- 
feated him in battle, and reduced Spain under their do- 
minion. I have presumed to prolong the Vision of the 
Revolutions of Spain down to the piesent eventful crisis 
of the Peninsula ; and to divide it, by a supposed change 
of scene, into Three Periods. The First of these re- 
presents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and 
Death of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupa- 
tion of the country by the Victors. The Second Pe- 
riod embraces the state of the Peninsula, when the con- 



272 VISION OP DON RODERICK. 

quests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and 
West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown 
of their arms \ sullied, however, by superstition and cru- 
elty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the Inquisition 
terminates this picture. The Last Part of the Poem 
opens with the state of Spain previous to the unparalleled 
treachery of Bonaparte ; gives a sketch of the usurpa- 
tion attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly 
kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the British 
succours. It may be farther proper to mention, that 
the object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail 
particular incidents, than to exhibit a general and im- 
pressive picture of the several periods brought upon the 



I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, 
especially by one who has already experienced more than 
ordinary indulgence, to offer any apology for the inferi- 
ority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly designed 
to commemorate. Yet I think it proper to mention, 
that while I was hastily executing a work, written for a 
temporary purpose, and on passing events, the task was 
most cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of 
Lord President Blair, 1 and Lord Viscount Mel- 
ville. In those distinguished characters, I had not only 
to regret persons whose lives were most important to 
Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage honoured 

l [The Right Hon. Robert Blair of Avontoun, President of the 
Court of Session, was the son of the Rev. Robert Blair, author of 
" The Grave." After long filling the office of Solicitor-General in 
Scotland 'with high distinction, he was elevated to the Presidency 
in 1808. He died very suddenly on the 20th May, 1811, in the 70th 
year of his age ; and his intimate friend, Henry Dundas, first Vis- 
count Melville, having gone into Edinburgh on purpose to attend 
his remains to the grave, was taken ill not less suddenly, and died 
there the very hour that the funeral took place, on the 28th of 
the same month.] 



PREFACE. 273 

my entrance upon active life ; and, I may add, with 
melancholy pride, who permitted my more advanced 
age to claim no common share in their friendship. Un- 
der such interruptions, the following verses, which my 
best and happiest efforts must have left far unworthy of 
their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an appearance 
of negligence and incoherence, which, in other circum- 
stances, I might have been able to remove, 

Edinburgh, June 24. 1811. 



JOHN WHITMORE, Esq. 

AND TO THE 

COMMITTEE OF SUBSCRIBERS FOR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE 
SUFFERERS, IN WHICH HE PRESIDES, 

THIS POEM, 

iTHE VISION OF DON RODERICK,) 

COMPOSED FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE FUND 
UNDER THEIR MANAGEMENT, 



RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 



WALTER SCOTT, 



INTRODUCTION. 



I. 

Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire 

May rise distinguished o'er the din of war : 
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre. 

Who sung beleaguer "d Ilion's evil star ? 1 
Such. Wellington, might reach thee from afar, 

Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Not shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, 

All as it swell'd 'twixt each loud trumpet-change, 2 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge ! 

IL 

Yes ! such a strain, with all o'er-powering measure, 
Might melodize with each tumultuous sound, 

Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure. 
That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around ; 

i [MS. — " Who sung the changes of the Phrygian jar."] 

2 [MS.—" Claiming thine ear "twixt each loud trumpet-change."] 



278 VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

The thund'ring cry of hosts with conquest crown'd, 
The female shriek, the ruin'd peasant's moan, 

The shout of captives from their chains unbound, 
The foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. 

III. 

But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day, 

Skill'd but to imitate an elder page, 
Timid and raptureless, can we repay 1 

The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age ? 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage 

Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land, 
While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's rage 

A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty hand — 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band ! 2 

IV. 

Ye mountains stern ! within whose rugged breast 
The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 

Ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their 
rest, 
Returning from the field of vanquished foes ; 

Say have ye lost each wild majestic close. 

That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung ; 

What time their hymn of victory arose, 



1 [MS.— " Unform'd for rapture, how shall we repay."] 

2 [MS. — " Thou givest our verse a theme that might engage 

Lyres that could richly yield thee back its due : 
A theme, might kindle Homer's mighty rage ; 
A theme, more grand than Maro ever knew — 
How much unmeet for us, degenerate, frail, and few !'*] 



INTRODUCTION. 270 

And Cattraetb/s glens with voice of triumph rung, 
And mystic Merlin harp'd, and grey-hairM Llywarch 
sung ! * 

V. 

O ! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain, 

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say, 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again, 

Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 

Then lend the note to him has loved you long ! 
Who pious gather'd each tradition grey, 

That floats your solitary wastes along. 
And with affection vain gave them new voice in song, 

VI. 

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 

Of truant verse hath lightened graver care, 
From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair ; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, 

They came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself prefers he now the prayer ; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's name. 

VII. 
Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost : - 

w Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre, 
Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire ; 

1 [See Appendix, Note A.] 
2 [MS. — " Hark, from grey Needpath's mists, the Brothers' cairn. > 
Hark, from the Brothers' cairn the answer tost."] / 



280 VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

If to such task presumptuous thou aspire, 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due : 
Age after age has gather'd son to sire, 

Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew, 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. 

VIII. 

" Deeay'd our old traditionary lore, 

Save where the lingering fays renew their ring. 
By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar, 

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted 
spring ; x 
Save where their legends grey-hair'd shepherds sing, 

That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, 
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging, 

And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. 

IX. 

" No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sun 
Gives with imstinted boon ethereal flame, 

Where the rude villager, his labour done, 

In verse spontaneous chants some favourM name, 

"Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, 
Her e}^e of diamond, and her locks of jet ; 

Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme, 2 



1 A belief in the existence and nocturnal revels of the fairies still 
lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious fountain upon 
the ridge of Minchmore, called the Cheesewell, is supposed to be 
sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was customary to propitiate 
them by throwing in something upon passing it. A pin was the 
usual oblation ; and the ceremony is still sometimes practised, 
though rather in jest than earnest. 

2 Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a poet may be al- 



INTRODUCTION". 



281 



He sing, to wild Morisco measure set, 
Old Alton's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet ! 

X. 

- Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, 
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruin'd breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane. 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. 

XL 

" There, of Xumantian fire a swarthy spark 
Still lightens in the sun-burnt native's eye ; 

The stately port, slow step, and visage dark, 
Still mark enduring pride and constancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not. as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood— 'gainst fortune fought 
and died, 

XIL 

44 And cherislvd still by that unchanging race, 1 
Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine ; 

lowed to exercise some power. I hare used the freedom, here and 
elsewhere, to alter the orthography of the name of my gallant 
countryman, in order to apprize the Southern reader of its legiti- 
mate sound; — Grahame being, on the other side of the Tweed, 
usually pronounced as a dissyllable. 

[MS.— ." And lingering still mid that unchanging race."] 



282 VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Of strange tradition, many a mystic trace, 
Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade, 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line. 

Go, seek such theme ! " — The Mountain Spirit 
said: 
With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obeyxL 



VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



I. 

Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies, 

And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, 

As from a trembling lake of silver white. 
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 

Of the broad burial-ground outstretch*d below. 
And nought disturbs the silence of the night ; 

All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow. 
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. 

II. 

All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
Their 1 changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, 

To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp, 



284 THE VISION OF 

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 1 
Which glimmer'd back, against the moon's fair lamp, 
Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen, 
And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders arm'd be- 
tween. 

III. 

But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, 

Since last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespers toll'd, 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

Their post beneath the proud Cathedral hold : 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace, 
Bear slender darts, 2 and casques bedeck'd with gold, 

While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place. 

IV. 

In the light language of an idle court, 

They murmur'd at their master's long delay, 
And held his lengthen'd orisons in sport : — 

- What ! will Don Roderick here till morning 
stay, 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past, 
For fair Florinda's plunder'd charms to pay ?" 3 
Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 
And wish'd the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at 
last. 

1 [MS. — " For, stretch'd beside the river's margin damp.. 

Their proud pavilions hide the meadow green."] 

2 [MS. — " Bore javelins slight," &c] 

3 [See Appendix, Note B.] 



DON RODERICK. 

V. 
But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King : 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent. 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, 

Such as are lothly utter 'd to the air, 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom wring. 

And Guilt his secret burthen cannot bear, 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair, 

VI. 

Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, 

The stream of failing light was feebly rolTd : : 
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare. 

Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told, 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook. 5 
That mortal man his bearing should behold. 

Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook, 
Fear tame a monarch's brow. Remorse a warrior's look, 

VIL 

The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale. 

As many a secret sad the King bewray 'd ; 
As sign and glance eked out the unfmish'd tale, 

When in the midst his faltering whisper staid,— 
u Thus royal Witiza 3 was slain,''— he said ; 



1 [MS. — " The feeble lamp in dying lustre ") 

The waves of broken light were feebly / roUtL J 

2 [MS.—" The haughty monarch's heart could evil brook."] 

s The predecessor of Roderick upon the Spanish throne, and 
slain by his connivance, as is affirmed by Rodriguez of Toledo, the 
father of Spanish history, 



286 THE VISION OF 

" Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I." 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade,— 
" Oh rather deem 'twas stern necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die, 

VIIL 

" And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air, 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain, 
And on her knees implored that I would spare, 

Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain !— . 
All is not as it seems — the female train 

Know by their bearing to disguise their mood :"— - 
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, 

Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood — 
He stay'd his speech abrupt — and up the Prelate stood. 

IX. 

" O hardened offspring of an iron race ! 

What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say ? 
What alms, or prayers, or penance, can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away I 
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray, 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast ? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, 

Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host, 
He spare the shepherd, 1 lest the guiltless sheep be 
lost."— 

X. 

Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, 
And to his brow return'd its dauntless gloom ; 



•i [MS.—" He spare to smite the shepherd, lest the sheep be 
lost."] 



DON' RODERICK. 287 

" And welcome then," he cried, w be blood for blood, 
For treason treachery, for dishonour doom ! 

Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom. 
Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key, 

And guide me, Priest, to that mysterious room, 1 
Where, if aught true in old tradition be, 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." — ' 

XL 

" Ill-fated Prince ! recall the desperate word, 

Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford 3 

Never to former Monarch entrance-way ; 
Xor shall it ever ope. old records say, 

Save to a King, the last of all his line, 
What time his empire totters to decay, 

And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine.'' — 

XII. 
" Prelate ! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay ; 

Lead on !" — The ponderous key the old man took, 
And held the winking lamp, and led the way. 

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperate King essay'd, 
Low mutter 'd thunders the Cathedral shook, 

And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort made. 
Till the huge bolts roll'd back, and the loud hinges 
bray'cL 

1 [MS.' — " And guide me, prelate, to that secret room.''] 

2 [See Appendix, Note C] 

3 [MS.—" Or pause the omen of thy fate to weigh ! 

Bethink that brazen portal would afford."] 



288 THE VISION OF 

XIII. 

Long, large, and lofty, wa3 that vaulted hall ; 

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone. 
Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall, 

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. 
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not 
spy; 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye. 

XIV. 

Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, 

Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place ; 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall, 

Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seem'd for kings of giant race, 

That lived and sinn'd before the avenging flood ; 
This grasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 

This spread his wings for flight, that pondering 
stood, 
Each stubborn seem'd and stern, immutable of mood. 

XV. 

Fix'd was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book, 

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was wrote of many a falling land, 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven : 
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season given." — 



DON RODERICK. **>* 

XVI. 

Even while they read, the sand-glass wastea away : 

And. as the last and lagging grain? did creep, 
That right-hand Giant "gan his club : upsway, 

As one that startles from a heavy sleep. 
Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thunder, 
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, 
The marble boundary was rent asunder, 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and 
wonder. 

XVII. 

For they might spy. beyond that mighty breach. 

Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, in due proportion each, 

As by some skilful artist's hand pourtray'd : 
Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade. 

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye \ 
There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade. 

Or deep-embrown'd by forests huge and high, 
Or wash'd by mighty streams, that slowly murmur'd by. 

XVIII. 

And here, as erst upon the antique stage. 

Pass'd forth the bands of masquers trimly led, 
In various forms, and various equipage, 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread, 

Successive pageants fill'd that mystic scene, 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled, 
And issue of events that had not been i 
And. ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between, 
i [MS. — " Arm — mace—clvb"^[ 
T 



200 THE VISION OP 

XIX. 

Eirst shriird an unrepeated female shriek !-— > 

It seem'd as if Don Roderick knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek 

Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal- clank the ear appal, 

The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell, 1 
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 

Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell — 
" The Moor !" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out the 
Tocsin bell ! 

XX. 

w They come ! they come ! I see the groaning lands 

White with the turbans of each Arab horde ; 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, 

Alia and Mahomet their battle- word, 
The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword — 

See how the Christians rush to arms amain ! — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd, 

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain — 
Now, God and Saint lago strike, for the good cause of 
Spain ! 

XXI. 

" By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians 
yield ! — 

Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — 

Is not yon steed Orelia ? — Yes, 'tis mine ! 2 



i [See Appendix, Note D.] 
* [See Appendix, Note E.] 



DON RODERICK. 291 

But never was she turn'd from battle-line : 

Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and 
stone ! — 
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine ! 

Rivers ingulf him V — " Hush," in shuddering tone. 
The Prelate said ; " rash Prince, yon vision'd form's 
thine own." 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent cross'd the flier's course \ 

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried * 
But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse, 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide ; 
And the proud Moslem ah spread far and wide, 

As numerous as their native locust band ; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, 

With naked scimitars mete out the land. 
And for their bondsmen base the freeborn natives brand. 

XXIIL 

Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes, 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign, 

By impious hands was from the altar thrown, 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echo'd, for holy hymn and organ-tone, 
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakirs gibbering moan. 

XXIY. 

How fares Don Roderick ? — E'en as one who spies 
Flames dart their glare e'er midnight's sable woof. 



292 THE VISION OF 

And hears around his children's piercing cries. 
And sees the pale assistants stand aloof ; 

While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof 
His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief ; 

And while above him nods the crumbling roof, 
He curses earth and Heaven — himself in chief — 
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief ! 

XXV. 

That scythe-arm'd Giant turn'd his fatal glass, 

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings : 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, 

Bazars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, 

And on the land as evening seem'd to set, 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or minaret, 

XXVI. 

So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came, 

The visionary scene was wrapp'd in smoke, 
Whose sulplrrous wreaths were cross'd by sheets of 
flame \ 
"With every flash a bolt explosive broke, 
Till Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their yoke, 
And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalon e ! 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke, 
Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her 
tone. 



DON RODERICK. 293 

XXVII. 

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away — 

The Christians have regaiiTd their heritage \ 
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray, 

And man) 7 a monastery decks the stage, 
And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage. 

The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — 
The Genii those of Spain for many an age \ 

This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, 
And that was Valour named, this Bigotry was hight, 

XXVIII. 

Valour was harness'd like a Chief of old, 

Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest j 1 
His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold, 

Morena's eagle-plume adorn'd his crest, 
The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. 

Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down his gage ; 
As if of mortal kind to brave the best. 

Him follow'd his Companion, dark and sage, 
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 

In look and language proud as proud might be, 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame : 

Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he : 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound, 
And -with his spells subdued the fierce and free, 

Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renown 'd, 
Honouring hi3 scourge and hair-cloth, meekly kiss'd the 
ground. 

i [" Arm'd at all points, exactly cap-a-pee."— Hamlet'} 



294 THE VISION GF 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced that Valour, peerless knight, 

Who ne'er to King or Kaisar veil'd his crest, 
Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, 

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stoop 'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reason'd of the right, nor of the wrong, 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest. 

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along, 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 

XXXI. 

Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world, 

That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurl'd, — 

Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn, 

Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul ; 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn, 

Bedabbled ail with blood With grisly scowl 

The Hermit mark'd the stains, and smiled beneath his 
cowl. 

XXXII. 

Then did he bless the offering, and bade make 

Tribute to Heaven of gratitude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake, 

And many a hand the silver censer sways. 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 

Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire ; 
The groans of prison 'd victims mar the lays, 

And shrieks of agony confound the quire ; 
While, mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scene* 
expire. 



DON RODERICK. 295 

XXXIII. 

Preluding light, were strains of music heard, 

As once again revolved that measured sand ; 
Such sounds as when, for silvan dance prepared, 

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band : 
When for the light bolero ready stand 

The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met, 1 
He conscious of his broider'd cap and band, 

She of her netted locks and light corsette, 
Each tiptoe perch 'd to spring, and shake the castanet. 

XXXIV. 

And well such strains the opening scene became ; 

For Valour had relax'd his ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, 

Lay stretch'd, full loth the weight of arms to 
brook ; 
And soften 'd Bigotry, upon his book, 

PatterM a task of little good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, 

Whistled the muleteer o'er vale and hill, 
And rung from village-green the merry seguidille. 

XXXV. 

Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil, 
Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold ; 

And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil 
Of a loose Female and her minion bold. 

But peace was on the cottage and the fold, 



i The bolero is a very light and active dance, much practised 
by the Spaniards, in which castanets are ahvays used. Mozo and 
muchacha are equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 



296 THE VISION OF 

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far ; 
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told, 
And to the tinkling of the light guitar, 
Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. 

XXXVI. 

As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen, 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, 1 

A while, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen, J 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, 

Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene, 

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud. 
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howPd' 
aloud : — 

XXXVII. 

Even so, upon that peaceful scene was pour'd, 

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, 
And He, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, 

And offer d peaceful front and open hand, 
Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, 

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise. 
Until he won the passes of the land ; 

Then burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties ! 
He clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and called fair Spain his 
prize. 

XXXVIII. 

An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore ; 
And well such diadem his heart became, 

1 [See I. Kings, chap, xviii. v. 41—45.] 



DON RODERICK. "2 r >7 

Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er.. 
Or check 'd his course for piety or shame : 

Who, trahVd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 
Might flourish in the wreath of battles won, 

Though neither truth nor honour deck'd his name : 
Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne. 
Reek'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone. 

XXXIX. 

From a rude isle his ruder lineage came, 

The spark, that, from a suburb-hovers hearth 
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame, 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth — 

The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure. 
That poison's the glad husband-field with dearth. 

And by destruction bids its fame endure. 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. 

XL. 

Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form : 

Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'cl. 
With which shebeckon'dhim through fight and storm. 

And all he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, 
Xor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he trode. 

Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not 
slake, 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 

It was Ambition bade her terrors wake. 
Xor deigmd she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 

XLI. 

Xo longer now she spum'd at mean revenge, 
Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan ; 
u 



298 THE VISION OF 

As when, the fates of aged Rome to change, 
By Caesar's side she cross'd the Rubicon. 

Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won, 

As when the banded powers of Greece were task'd 

To war beneath the Youth of Macedon : 
No seemly veil her modern minion ask'd, 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmask \I 

XLII. 

That Prelate mark'd his march — On banners blazed 

With battles won in many a distant land, 
On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed : 

" And hopest thou, then," he said, " thy power 
shall stand ? 
O, thou hast builded on the shifting sand, 

And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood ; 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand, 

Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud, 
And by a bloody death, shall die the Man of Blood !" 

XLIII. 

The ruthless leader beckon'd from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, 
And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, 

While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, "Castile I" 1 
Not that he loved him — No ! — In no man's weal, 

Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel, 

That the poor Puppet might perform his part, 
And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 



i The heralds, at the coronation of a Spanish monarch, pro- 
claim his name three times, and repeat three times the word Cas- 
tilla, Costilla, Costilla ; which, with all other ceremonies, was care- 
fully copied in the mock inauguration of Joseph Bonaparte. 



DON RODERICK. '209 

XLIV. 

But on the Natives of that Land misused, 

Not long the silence of amazement hung, 
Nor brook'd they long their friendly faith abused ; 
For, "with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaim'd, M To arms ! " — and fast to arms they 
sprung. 
And Valour woke, that Genius of the Land ! 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung, 
As burst th' awakening Nazarite his band, 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his dread- 
ful hand. 1 

XLV. 

That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 

Upon the Satraps that begirt him round, 
Now doff'd his i-oyal robe in act to fly, 

And from his brow the diadem unbound. 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound, 

From Tank's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown, 
These martial satellites hard labour found, 

To guard a while his substituted throne — 
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 

XLVI. 

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, 
And it was echo'd from Corunna's wall ; 

Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, 
Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 

Galicia bade her children fight or fall, 
Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 

Valencia roused her at the battle-call, 

1 [See Book of Judges, chap. xv. y. 9 — 16.] 



300 THE VISION OF 

And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met. 
Fast started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. 

XL VII. 

But unappall'd, and burning for the fight, 
The Invader's march, of victory secure ; 

Skilful their force to sever or unite, 

And train'd alike to vanquish or endure. 

Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure, 
Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow, 

To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 

While nought against them bring the unpractised 
foe, 

Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands for Free- 
dom's blow. 

XLVIII. 

Proudly they march — but, O ! they march not forth 

By one hot field to crown a brief campaign, 
As "when their Eagles, sweeping through the North. 

Destroy 'd at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ; 

In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, 
New Patriot armies started from the slain, 

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide. 
And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. 

XLIX. 

Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 
Remain'd their savage waste. With blade and brand, 
By day the invaders ravaged hill and dale, 

But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band . 
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land. 



DON RODERICK. 



301 



And claim "d for blood the retribution due. 
Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'rous hand : 

And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw, 
Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses knew. 

L. 

What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, 

Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea, 
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honour'd in defeat as victory ! 
For that sad pageant of events to be, 

Show'd every form of fight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, 

Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud, 
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd with 
blood ! 

LI. 

Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honour due ! 
For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, 

Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 
Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter d ruins knew. 

Each art of war's extremity had room, 
Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe withdrew, 

And when at length stern fate decreed thy doom. 
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. 1 

LII. 

Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains, 

EnthrallM thou canst not be ! Arise, and claim 
Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, 

i [See Appendix. Note F.] 



302 THE VISION OF 

For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted Dame, 
She of the Column, honour'd be her name, 

By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love ! 
And like the sacred relics of the flame, 

That gave some martyr to the bless'd above, 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove ! 

LIII. 

Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 

Faithful to death thy heroes should be sung, 
Manning the towers while o'er their heads the air 

Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung •, 
Now thicker dark'ning where the mine was sprung. 

Now briefly lighten'd by the cannon's flare, 
Now arch'd with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, 

And redd'ning now with conflagration's glare, 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. 

LIV. 
While all around was danger, strife, and fear, 

While the earth shook, and darken'd was the sky, 
And wide Destruction stunn'd the listening ear, 

Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite, 
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, 

Whether it hail the wine cup or the fight, 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. 

LV. 

Don Roderick turn'd him as the shout grew loud — l 
A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 

J |_MS.— " Don Roderick turned him at the sudden 017/' 



DON RODERICK. 303 

For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 
A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad. 

From mast and stern St. George's symbol flow'd, 
Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear ; 

Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd, 1 
And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear. 
And the wild beach return'd the seaman's jovial cheer. 2 

LVI. 

It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars, 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite. 

Legions on legions brightening all the shores. 
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, 

Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum. 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours, 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb. 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come ! 

LVIL 
A various host they came — whose ranks display 

Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 

And meditates his aim the marksman light : 
Far glance the beams of sabres flashing bright, 

Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead, 5 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, 

Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 

* [MS.— " Right for the shore unnumbered barges roVd."] 
2 [Compare with this passage, and the Valour, Bigotry, and 
Ambition of the previous stanzas, the celebrated personification of 
War. in the first canto of Childe Harold : — 

" Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, &c] 
3 [MS. " the dusty mead."] 



304 THE VISION OP 

LVIII. 

A various host — from kindred realms they came, 

Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim, 

And with their deeds of valour deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown. 

And hers their scorn of death in freedom's cause, 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause 
And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier wit 
the Laws. 

LIX. 

And, O ! loved warriors of the Minstrel's land ! 

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain band, 

And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart so brave. 

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 

And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
Where lives the desperate foe that for such ons 
staid ! 

LX. 

Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings, 
Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy. 

His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings. 
And moves to death with military glee : 

Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and free, 
In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 

Rough Nature's children, humorous as she : 

1 [MS.—" His jest each careless comrade round him flings." 



DON RODERICK. 305 

And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine own. 

LXI. 

Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown, 

On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, 
And hear Coranna wail her battle won, 

And see Busaco's crest with lightening blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes 1 praise ? 

Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs 
room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays 

That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's tomb ! 

LXIL 

Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope, 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That hides futurity from anxious hope, 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail, 
And painting Europe rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd, 
While kindling nations buckle on their mail, 

And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurl'd* 
To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World I 1 

LXIII. 

O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, 
Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own : 



■' The nation will arise regenerate ; 
Strong in her second youth, and beautiful, 
And like a spirit that hath shaken off 
The clog of dull mortality, shall Spain 
Arise in glory." — Southby'f Roderick.} 



306 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Yet fate resigns to worth the glorious past, 
The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. 

Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone, 
King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, 

Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, 
Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain i 



[ 307 1 



VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



CONCLUSION. 



I. 

44 Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide 1 

Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie ? 
Who. when Gascogne's vex'd gulf is raging wide. 

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try, 

And when the torrent shall his voice obey, 
And Biscay's whirlwinds list his lullaby, 

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. 

II. 

44 Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 
They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, 

And their own sea hath whelm'd yon red-cross Powers ! r 
Thus, on the smnmit of Alverca's rock, 

To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. 
While downward on the land his legions press, 

Before them it was rich with vine and flock, 

[MS.— "Who shall command the torrent's headlong tide."] 



308 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; 

Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness. 

III. 

And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, 

Though Heaven hath heard thewailings ofHhe land. 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, 

Though Britons arm, and Wellington command ! 
No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force ; 
And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd band, 

As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. 

IV. 

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 

Hath on his best and bravest made her food, 
In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood : 
For full in view the promised conquest stood, 

And Lisbon's matrons from their walls, might sum 
The myriads that had half the world subdued, 

And hear the distant thunders of the drum, 
That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc come 

V. 

Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd, 

Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey, 
As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to battle-fray, 

Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight ; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite 
Tu damn with double shame their ignominious flight ! 



\< LUSION. 309 

VI. 

O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath ! 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot, 
What wanton horrors mark'd their wreck ful path ! 

The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot, 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot, 

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame. 
Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot, 

By which inventive demons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great 
name ! 

VII. 
The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. 

Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp "'d his gun. 
Xor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son 

Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 
Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, 

Xor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay. 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless 
lay. 1 

VIII. 

But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscall *'d in vain ! 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

1 [The MS. has, for the preceding five lines — 
•'•' And in pursuit vindictive hurried on, ~ 
AndO, survivors sad ! to you belong 

Tributes from each that Briton calls her son. 
From all her nobles, all her wealthier throng, 
To her poor peasant's mite, and minstrel's poorer song."" 



310 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain ? 
Vain-glorious fugitive ! 1 yet turn again f 

Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, 
Flows honour's Fountain, 2 as foredoom 'd the stain 

From thy dishonour'd name and arms to clear — 
Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redet m her favour here ! 

IX. 

Yet, ere thou turn'st, collect each distant aid ; 

Those chiefs that never heard the lion roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a trace pourtray'd, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more ; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour, 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roll, 
And weary out his arm — thou canst not quell his soul, 

X. 

O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore. 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
And front the flying thunders as they roar, 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain ! 3 
And what avails thee that, for Cameron slain, 4 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given — 
Vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage the rein, 

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven, 
Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. 



i [See Appendix, Note G.] 

2 The literal translation of FueriUs d Howro. 

3 [See Appendix, Note H.] 

4 [See Appendix, Note I.] 



CONCLUSION. 311 

XL 

Go, baffled boaster ! teach thy haughty mood 

To plead at thine imperious master's throne, 
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, 

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own ; 
Say, that4kine utmost skill and valour shown 

By British skill and valour were outvied ; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington ! 

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture well abide. 

XII. 

But ye, the heroes of that well fought day, 

How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown. 
His meed to each victorious leader pay, 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won ? 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone. 

Cer the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave ! 
And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own, 

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. 

XIII. 

Yes ! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, 

To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunders Beresford, 

And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless Graeme ! 
O for a verse of tumult and of flame, 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame ! 

For never, upon gory battle-ground, 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors 
crown "d ! 



312 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

XIV. 

who shall grudge him Albuera's bays, 1 
Who brought a race regenerate to the field. 

Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise, 

Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steel'd, 2 

And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield, 
And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword, 

And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield 

Shiver'd my harp, and burst its every chord, 
If it forget thy worth, victorious Beresford ! 

XV. 3 
Not on that bloody field of battle won, 

Though Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist away, 
Was half his self-devoted valour shown, 

He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
But when he toil'd those squadrons to array, 

Who fought like Britons in the bloody game, 
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay, 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, 
And, deare r far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. 

XVI. 

Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 
Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 

1 [MS. — " O who shall grudge yon chief the victor's bays.''] 

2 [See Appendix, Note K.] 

3 [MS. — " Not greater on that mount of strife and blood, 

While Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist away, 

And tides of gore stained Albuera's flood, 
And Poland's shatter'd lines before him lay, 

And clarions hail'd him victor of the day. 
Not greater when he toil'd yon legions to array, 
'Twas life he peril'd in that stubborn game, 

And life 'gainst honour when did soldier weigh ? . 
But, self-devoted to his generous aim, 

Far dearer than his life, the hero pledged his fame. ] 



CONCLUSION. 313 

Whose wis!) Heaven for his country's weal denied \ l 
Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 

From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound, 
The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still 2 

Thine was his thought in march and tented ground ! 
He dream'd "mid Alpine cliffs of Athole'a hill, 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. 5 

XVII. 
O hero of a race renowivd of oM, 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle- swell, 
Since first distinguished in the onset bold, 

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell ! 
By Wallace* side it rung the Southron's knell, 

Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber, own'd its fame. 
TnmmelTs rude pass can of its terrors tell, 
But ne'er from prouder field arose the name. 
Than when wild Ronda learn'd the conquering shout of 
Gr^me ! 

XVIII. 

But all too long, through seas unknown and dark. 
(With Spenser's parable I close my tale,) 4 

1 [MS. — •'•' Xor "be his meed o'erpast who sadly tried 

With valour's wreath to hide affection's wound, 
To whom his wish Heaven for our weal denied."! 

2 [MS.— " From war to war the wanderer went his round, 

Yet was his soul in Caledonia still ; 
Hers was his thought," &c."] 

3 [MS. •'•' fairy rill."] 

4 [" Now, strike your saiies. yee iolly mariners, 

For we become unto a quiet rode, 
Where we must land some of our passengers, 

And light this weary vessell of her lode. 
Here she a while may make her safe abode, 

Till she repaired have her tackles spent 
And wants suppiide : and then againe abroad 



314 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

By shoal and rock hath steerd my venturous bark, 
And landward now I drive before the gale. 

And now the blue and distant shore I hail, 
And nearer now I see the port expand, 

And now I gladly furl my weary sail, 

And, as the prow light touches on the strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag and bind my skiff to land. 

On the long voiage whereto she is bent : 
Well may she speede, and fairly finish her intent ! 

Faerie Queene, Book i. Canto 12. ] 



[ 315 



APPENDIX 



Note A. 



mystic Merlin harp'd, and grey-hair\l Llywarch sung.— 

P. 279. 

This locality may startle those readers who do not recollect, that 
much of the ancient poetry preserved in "Wales refers less to the 
history of the Principality to which that name is now limited, than 
to events which happened in the north-west of England, and south- 
west of Scotland, where the Britons for a long time made a stand 
against the Saxons. The battle of Cattraeth. lamented by the ce- 
lebrated Aneurin, is supposed by the learned Dr. Leyden to have 
been fought on the skirts of Ettrick Forest. It is known to the 
English reader by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning, 

• c Had I but the torrent's might, 

With headlong rage and wild affright, " &c. 

Note B. 

For fair Florinda's plunder' d charms to pay.— P, 284. 

Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradi- 
tion, ascribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation 
committed by Roderick uponFlorinda, called by the Moors, Caba 
or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Go- 
thic monarch's principal lieutenants, who. when the crime was 
perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the 
Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of his sovereign, and 
the dishonour of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a 
Christian and a patriot, and, forming an alliance with Musa, then 
the caliph's lieutenant in Africa, he countenanced the invasion of 
Spain by a body of Saracens and Africans, commanded by the ce- 
lebrated Tarik ; the issue of which was the defeat and death of 
Roderick, and the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by 
the Moors. 



316 APPENDIX TO THE 



Note C. 



■ that mysterious room, 

Where, if aught true in old tradition be, 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see.— P. 287. 

" One mile on the east side of the city of Toledo, among some 
rocks, was situated an ancient tower, of a magnificent structure, 
though much dilapidated by time, which consumes all : four esta- 
does (i. e. four times a man's height) below it, there was a cave 
with a very narrow entrance, and a gate cut out of the solid rock, 
lined with a strong covering of iron, and fastened with many locks ; 
above the gate some Greek letters are engraved, which, although 
abbreviated, and of doubtful meaning, were thus interpreted, ac- 
cording to the exposition of learned men : — ' The King who opens 
this cave, and can discover the wonders, will discover both good 
and evil things.' — Many kings desired to know the mystery of this 
tower, and sought to find out the manner with much care : but 
when they opened the gate, such a tremendous noise arose in the 
cave, that it appeared as if the earth was bursting : many of those 
present sickened with fear, and others lost their lives. In order to 
prevent such great perils, (as they supposed a dangerous enchant- 
ment was contained within, ) they secured the gate with new locks, 
concluding, that, though a King was destined to open it, the fated 
time was not yet arrived. At last King Don Rodrigo, led on by 
his evil fortune and unlucky destiny, opened the tower ; and some 
bold attendants whom he had brought with him, entered, although 
agitated with fear. Raving proceeded a good way, they fled back 
to the entrance, terrified with a frightful vision which they had 
beheld. The King was greatly moved, and ordered many torches, so 
contrived that the tempest in the cave could not extinguish them, 
to be lighted. Then the King entered, not without fear, before 
all the others. They discovered, by degrees, a splendid hall, ap- 
parently built in a very sumptuous manner ; in the middle stood 
a Eronze Statue of very ferocious appearance, which held a battle- 
axe in its hands. With this he struck the floor violently, giving 
it such heavy blows, that the noise in the cave was occasioned by 
the motion of the air. The King, greatly affrighted and astonished, 
began to conjure this terrible vision, promising that he would re- 
turn without doing any injury in the cave, after he had obtained a 
sight of what was contained in it. The statue ceased to strike the 
floor, and the King, with his followers, somewhat assured, and 
recovering their courage, proceeded into the hall ; and on the left 
of the statue they found this inscription on the wall. ' Unfortu- 
nate King.-! thou hast entered here in evil hour.' On the right 



VISION OF DON RODERICK. 317 

side of the wall these words were inscribed, ' By strange nations 
thou shah be dispossessed, and thy subjects foully degraded.' On 
the shoulders of the statue other words were written, which said, 
1 I call upon the Arabs.' And upon his breast was written, ' I do 
my office.' At the entrance of the hall there was placed a round 
bowl, from which a great noise, like the fall of waters, proceeded. 
They found no other thing in the hall ; and when the King, sor- 
rowful and greatly affected, had scarcely turned about to leave 
the cavern, the statue again commenced its accustomed blows 
upon the floor. After they had mutually promised to conceal 
what they had seen, they again closed the tower, and blocked up 
the gate of the cavern Avith earth, that no memory might remain 
in the world of such a portentous and evil-boding prodigy. The 
ensuing midnight they heard great cries and clamour from the 
cave, resounding like the noise of battle, and the ground shaking 
with a tremendous roar: the whole edifice of the old tower fell 
to the ground, by which they were greatly affrighted, the vision 
which they had beheld appearing to them as a dream. 

: King having left the tower, ordered wise men to explain 
what the inscriptions signified ; and having consulted upon and 
studied their meaning, they declared that the statue of bronze, with 
the motion which it made with its battle-axe, signified Time: and 
that its office, alluded to in the inscription on its breast, was, 
that he never rests a single moment. The words on the shoulders, 
' I call upon the Arabs,' they expounded, that, in time, Spain 
would be conquered by the Arabs. The words upon the left wail 
signified the destruction of King Rodrigo ; those on the right, the 
dreadful calamities which were to fall upon the Spaniards and 
G-oths, and that the unfortunate King would be dispossessed of all 
his states. Finally, the letters on the portal indicated, that good 
would betide to the conquerors, and evil to the conquered, of which 
experience proved the truth." — Hwtoria Verdadeyra del Roy Bon 
Rodrigo. Quinta impression. Madrid, 1654, iv. p. 23. 

Note D. 
The Tecbir war-cry, and the LeHe's yeU.—P. 290. 

The Tecbir (derived from the words Alia debar, God is most 
mighty) was the original war-cry of the Saracens. It is celebrated 
by Hughes in the Siege of Damascus : — 

" We heard the Tecbir ; so these Arabs call 
Their shout of onset, when, with loud appeal, 
They challenge Heaven, as if demanding conquest." 
The Lelie, well known to the Christians during the crusades, is 
the shout of Allailla Alia, the Mahomedan confession of faith. 



318 APPENDIX TO THE 

Note E. 
The steed Orelia.—T> 290. 

Count Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, with the con- 
nivance and assistance of Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, invited, in 
713, the Saracens into Spain. A considerable army arrived under 
the command of Tarik, or Tarif, who bequeathed the well-known 
name of Gibraltar ( Gibel al Tarik, or the mountain of Tarik) to 
the place of his landing. He was joined by Count Julian, ravaged 
Andalusia, and took Seville. In 714, they returned with a still 
greater force, and Roderick marched into Andalusia at the head of 
a great army, to give them battle. The field was chosen near 
Xeres.— See Account of the Battle in Mariana, B. vi. c. 9. 

Orelia, the courser of Don Roderick, mentioned in the text, was 
celebrated for her speed and form. She is mentioned repeatedly 
in Spanish romance, and also by Cervantes. 

Note F. 

They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb.— P. 301. 

The interesting account of Mr. Vaughan has made most readers 
acquainted with the first siege of Zaragoza. 1 The last and fatal 
siege of that gallant and devoted city is detailed with great elo- 
quence and precision in the " Edinburgh Annual Register" for 
1809, — a work in which the affairs of Spain have been treated of 
with attention corresponding to their deep interest, and to the pe- 
culiar sources of information open to the historian. 

Note G. 
Vainglorious fugitive.— -P. 310. 

The French conducted this memorable retreat with much of 
thefanfarronade proper to their country, by which they attempt 
to impose upon others, and perhaps on themselves, a belief that 
they are triumphing in the very moment of their discomfiture. On 
the 30th March, 1811, their rear-guard was overtaken near Pega by 
the British cavalry. Being well posted, and conceiving themselves 
safe from infantry, (who were indeed many miles in the rear,) 
and from artillery, they indulged themselves in parading their 

i [See Narrative of the Siege of Zaragoza, by Richard Charles 
Vaughan, Esq. 1809. The Right Honourable R. C. Vaughan is 
now British Minister at Washington, 1833.] 



VISION OF DON RODERICK. 310 

bands of music, and actually performed " God save the King." 
Their minstrelsy was. however, deranged by the undesired accom- 
paniment of the British horse-artillery, on whose part in the con- 
cert they had not calculated. The surprise was sudden, and the 
rout complete ; for the artillery and cavalry did execution upon 
them for about four miles, pursuing at the gallop as often as they 
got beyond the range of the guns. 

Note H. 
With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in mm/— P. 310. 

In the severe action of Fuentes d' Honoro, upon 5th May, 1811, 
the grand mass of the French cavalry attacked the right of the 
British position, covered by two guns of the horse-artillery, and 
two squadrons of cavalry. After suffering considerably from the 
fire of the guns, which annoyed them in every attempt at formation, 
the enemy turned their wrath entirely towards them, distributed 
brandy among their troopers, and advanced to carry the field-pieces 
with the desperation of drunken fury. They were in nowise checked 
by the heavy loss which they sustained in this daring attempt, but 
closed, and fairly mingled with the British cavalry, to whom they 
bore the proportion of ten to one. Captain Kamsay, (let me be 
permitted to name a gallant countryman,) who commanded the 
two guns, dismissed them at the gallop, and, putting himself at the 
head of the mounted artillerymen, ordered them to fall upon the 
French, sabre-in-hand. This very unexpected conversion of artil- 
lerymen into dragoons, contributed greatly to the defeat of the 
enemy, already disconcerted by the reception they had met from 
the two British squadrons ; and the appearance of some small re- 
inforcements, notwithstanding the immense disproportion of force, 
put them to absolute rout. A colonel or major of their cavalry 
and many prisoners, (almost all intoxicated,) remained in our pos- 
session. Those who consider for a moment the difference of the 
services, and how much an artilleryman is necessarily and naturally 
led to identify his own safety and utility with abiding by the tre- 
mendous implement of war, to the exercise of which he is chiefly, 
if not exclusively, trained, will know how to estimate the presence 
of mind which commanded so bold a manoeuvre, and the steadi- 
ness and confidence with which it was executed. 

Note I. 
Cameron.— P. 310. 

The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during the 
desperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentes d» 



320 APPENDIX TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

Honoro. He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 71st 
and 79th, who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. They 
charged, with irresistible fury, the finest body of French grena- 
diers ever seen, being a part of Bonaparte's selected guard. The 
officer who led the French, a man remarkable for stature and sym- 
metry, was killed on the spot. The Frenchman who stepped out 
of his rank to take aim at Colonel Cameron, was also bayoneted, 
pierced with a thousand wounds, and almost torn to pieces by 
the furious Highlanders, who, under the command of Colonel 
Cadogan, bore the enemy out of the contested ground at the point 
of the bayonet. Massena pays my countrymen a singular compli- 
ment in his account of the attack and defence of this village, in 
which he says, the British lost many officers, and Scotch. 

Note K. 
Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steel'd.—P. 312. 
Nothing during the war of Portugal seems, to a distinct observer, 
more deserving of praise, than the self-devotion of Field-Marshal 
Beresford, who was contented to undertake all the hazard of ob- 
loquy which might have been founded upon any miscarriage in the 
highly important experiment of training the Portuguese troops to 
an improved state of discipline. In exposing his military repu- 
tation to the censure of imprudence from the most moderate, and 
all manner of unutterable calumnies from the ignorant and malig- 
nant, he placed at stake the dearest pledge which a military man 
had to offer, and nothing but the deepest conviction of the high and 
essential importance attached to the success can be supposed an 
adequate motive. How great the chance of miscarriage was sup- 
posed, may be estimated from the general opinion of officers of 
unquestioned talents and experience, possessed of every opportu- 
ne v of information ; how completely the experiment has succeeded, 
and how much the spirit and patriotism of our ancient allies had 
been underrated, is evident, not only from those victories in which 
thev have borne a distinguished share, but from the liberal and 
highly honourable manner in which these opinions have been re- 
tracted. The success of this plan, with all its important conse- 
quences, we owe to the indefatigable exertions of Field-Marshal 
Beresford. 



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